


Perfect Weather to Fly

by runsinthefamily



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:11:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from the kmeme: Morrigan is taken relatively young to the Tower. She hates it and finds like minded rebels in Amell and Anders.</p><p>The Three Mauraders decide to learn how to shape shift and get out of the Tower.</p><div class="center">We had the drive and the time on our hands<br/>One little room and the biggest of plans<br/>The days were shaping up frosty and bright<br/>Perfect weather to fly<br/>Perfect weather to fly<br/>- Elbow, 'Weather To Fly'</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The new girl arrived in the care of three templars.

There supposed to be four. There was always four, that was the standard number for witch hunting, although the templars didn't call it that. "Mage retrieval," as though they were picking up a package that had gone astray. There were three of them, and their armor was sooty and their purple skirts singed and the girl had an enormous bruise all down the left side of her face and blood on her clothes. She was twelve or thirteen, skinny and wild and dressed in leather and rags and feathers, her hair a wild nest of black. She looked Chasind, until she glanced up and revealed pale skin and hazel eyes.

Furious, burning, hazel eyes.

Anders liked her immediately.

*

"There's a new girl," he said that night to Daylen, kicking the slats of the bunk above him to rouse the other boy.

"Quit it! I'm trying to sleep."

"She's got the most amazing eyes."

There was a shuffle of blankets and then Daylen hung his head over the edge of the bunk. "You were in the galleries again."

"Yep," said Anders blithely. "Saw the boat from the gardens, wanted a better look."

"You were in the gardens again?"

"Picking elfroot," said Anders, woundedly. "I had permission and everything."

"Not to go in the galleries, though, that's for the senior enchanters only."

"Look, do you want to hear about the new girl or not?"

"Will the two of you shut up already!" The hiss cut across the darkened apprentice quarters.

"Get down here," whispered Anders, lifting his covers.

Daylen hesitated and then dropped lightly to the ground and crept in by Anders's side. Anders dropped the covers over their heads and summoned a wisp, faint and tiny. Daylen's face twisted a bit with envy. "How do you do it so easily?"

"Creation," said Anders, keeping his voice low. "It's my thing. You've got your fireballs, they're just as impressive."

Daylen smirked at him, he smirked back and then they were snickering helplessly. Daylen caught his breath and dropped his eyes to Anders's lips.

Anders gave a put-upon sigh and kissed him. It was all warm and soft and interesting for a while, and then Daylen leaned back and put his head on the pillow. "The girl?"

"Hmm? Oh, right. They dragged her in all bloody and she was all dressed in like, fur and rags and things, and still glaring like a hawk. And, listen," he leaned in, although there was hardly any space between them to begin with, "there were only three templars."

Daylen's eyes went wide. "What, because of - but if she'd - they'd've killed her, right? If she'd done anything?"

"Maybe her family fought for her," said Anders. "Maybe they killed one of the bastards."

Daylen put his hand over Anders's mouth. "Shh," he said. "You shouldn't talk like that. They could hear."

"I hope they do," said Anders against Daylen's palm. "When I get out ..."

"Right," said Daylen. "Maybe you'll make it to the other side of the lake this time."

Anders pulled away. Daylen had come to the Circle at four and couldn't remember anything else. Anders remembered. He'd been her age, the not-Chasind girl. Two years had not made him forget. They had only sharpened his memories and his anger and his determination.

"Do you want to kiss some more?" asked Daylen.

"No," said Anders, caught the look on the other boy's face, and relented. "Yes, alright."

Later, pleasantly buzzing from Daylen's lips and hands, he lay alone in his bed and thought about the girl. New, and older, and with whatever had happened to the templars, she'd be in one of the holding cells for at least a week. He didn't want to wait that long to meet her. He wanted to find out her name and where she was from and if she'd been the one to scorch those pretty purple flounces.

He really hoped she had been.

*

There was only one way down to the cells and that was past the templar guards on the single door. And the only way to get past them was to have permission. Anders wished, briefly, that he hadn't spent some of his built-up good behaviour capital on the gardens but he was just going to have to work with what he had.

"I think I'm starting to get the hang of this," he said to Enchanter Thekla after Force class. It was a lie. Anders had no aptitude for Force magic whatsoever and was only in the class for Karl Thekla's crystalline blue eyes and his notoriously soft touch when it came to his students.

"What is it now, Anders?" asked Enchanter Thekla. "About to be caught for another prank? Want to move bunks?"

"That just hurts my feelings, Enchanter," said Anders. "I can't express my gratitude for your guidance and knowledge and really amazing way with a concentrated release of thwarted gravity?"

Thekla raised an eyebrow at him. "'Thwarted?'"

"Good word, isn't it?" Anders grinned. "Amazing what you can learn from those Nevarran Romances someone hid behind the Advanced Primal Fire texts in the library."

"What do you want, Anders?" said Thekla patiently. "I have another lesson to give in a quarter glass."

"Can I take down the tray to the new girl tonight?"

Thekla's face sobered. "No. And you are not to ask anyone else. She's being held as a possible malificar."

Anders's eyes widened. "Why?"

"I'm not answering that. And that's another question you will keep to yourself, understand? Do not show interest in her."

Anders scowled and kicked the leg of Thekla's desk.

Thekla sighed. "Her trial is in a few days. If she is acquitted, I will see what I can do. Until then ..." he mimed turning a key in front of his lips.

"Yes, Enchanter," said Anders. _The hell with that_ , he thought.

***

"You're going to get caught!" Daylen hissed frantically from the floor.

Anders kicked, wriggled, and managed to fit himself onto the narrow ledge. Kinloch was a very old building, rebuilt and refurbished and expanded many times in its storied history, and there were dozens of places that a skinny bo - young man could get to that a templar wouldn't even see.

Like this cramped space between the top of the storeroom wall and the bottom of the ceiling vaulting. From here, he could see the seemingly endless length of it, extending all the way past the food storage (below ground, to help preserve the food) and into the forbidden dungeons beyond.

"Go away," said Anders. "If I get caught, so will you." He began to shimmy along the stone, slowly and carefully.

"I'll leave your robe behind the beans," said Daylen forlornly.

"Good, great, thanks," said Anders. He reached the end, eyed the narrow triangular gap, and then twisted lithely through. It was cold and gritty and cobwebby up here, and he wore nothing but a short pair of cotton braies and his shirt, but he had to keep himself from laughing in sheer, adrenalized delight.

Templars were so _stupid._

Stupid, but damnably good of hearing. Though they didn't think to actually look up, thank the Maker. Anders inched by over the two templars, holding his breath and moving one limb at a time. They looked even more ridiculous from above, he decided. The one of the left had rust on the back top of his helmet.

Past the guard, it was all easy sailing. There wasn't anyone in the cells at the moment, other than Mistress Not-Chasind, and no guards other than the ones on the door. She wasn't in the usual cells but that wasn't too much of a surprise. He shuddered as he passed the anti-magic wards.

At the end of the cells was a large open room and in the center of the room was an iron cage. In the cage was the girl.

She looked up immediately when Anders squirmed through the last triangular slot. The corner below him featured a nicely detailed carving of Andraste and he climbed down to the floor past her plump, oversized bosom. Once his feet were on the ground, he dusted his hands, brushed himself off, and turned his best charming smile on.

The girl stared back, expressionless.

"Hello," said Anders.

Her nostrils widened a fraction. She still wore her leather. Her face was still bruised.

No, he corrected himself, more bruised. His fingers twitched and he groped futilely for his magic for a moment before he remembered the wards. Stupid impulse anyway. If they came back and found her healed, well.

She was still watching him, wary as a wolf.

"I'm Anders," he said. "I'm an apprentice here. I, uh. I saw them bring you in."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Was it you that burned them? I thought it was brilliant. What happened to the fourth tin can?"

Yet again, no response. He was starting to feel a bit of an idiot.

"Well, anyway," he said. "What's your name?"

She clamped her lips together.

"I'm not here to spy for them," he said, suddenly understanding. "I swear. I just wanted to meet you." He bit his lip and then sighed. "Well. It's a long crawl back to the storerooms so I suppose I'd better get going."

He was halfway up Andraste when she spoke.

"'Tis Morrigan."

He dropped back down and looked at her.

"My name," she clarified.

"Where are you from?"

She lifted her chin. "The Wilds."

"So you are Chasind." He came over and sat on the floor by the bars.

"I am not," she said. "I am the daughter of the Witch of the Wilds and she is going to come and get me. She's a dragon. She'll burn this prison to the ground and then we'll fly away and all the templars will cook inside their stupid metal skins."

"Huh," he said. She had a strange accent, old fashioned and a bit stilted.

"'Tis of no concern to me whether you believe me or not," she said, sticking her nose higher. Her hair was frankly ridiculous, now that he saw it up close. Like a bird's nest with the bird's tail sticking up out of it. There were little feather and bones and things tied to her belt. She'd been crying, he could see that too.

"No, it's a good plan," he said. "My escape plans aren't nearly so magnificent."

She eyed him with suspicion. "You plan to escape? You aren't happy, to stay here in your gilded cage, fat and indolent?"

"Fat!" he exclaimed. "I'm not fat, look at me. I keep quite fit, thank you. When I get out of here, I'm going to run so fast they'll never catch me."

"What about your ... flactory?"

"Oh," he said casually, waving a hand. "I'll just smash it first, or something."

"When are you going?" She shuffled a bit closer to the bars.

"Soon," he said. "I'm still working out some details."

She struggled with herself for a moment and then burst out, "May I accompany you?"

"What about your mum, then?" he said, teasingly. "Don't you want to wait around and see the show? Templars, going up like torches?"

She glared and crossed her arms. "I - she - she would be pleased to see that I did not wait for her. That I am capable and strong."

"I can't get you out of here," said Anders, feeling bad for having poked her. "No magic."

"Oh." She slumped a little.

"They'll let you out, eventually," he said. "After the trial, I mean."

"Trial?" For the first time she looked like a little girl.

"They think you're a malificar."

"What does that mean?"

"Blood magic?" he said. "Demons and that?"

She curled her lip in scorn. "A fool's path," she said. "I would never."

Anders wanted, all of a sudden and _desperately_ , for her to live. She was strong and proud and she'd been free in a way that no one else here could understand. If she lived, if she were made an apprentice ... He squinted at her. She looked an awful lot like a malificar at the moment. A little one, but still... "You have to make them believe it, though."

"How do I do that?"

"Tell them you love Andraste and want to be a good little mage," he said. "Tell them your mother beat you and you are happy to be safe now." He paused. "Did you burn those templars?"

"Yes," she said, sharp and clipped.

"You _killed_ a _Templar_?" Anders was caught perfectly between awe and terror.

"No," she said. "One of them fell in a bog and drowned. After I burned them." She flexed her fingers. 

"Brilliant," he breathed. "But you have to tell them you're sorry. That you were afraid. That you'll never do it again."

"I will," she said. "I'll burn every last one of them and cherish their screams."

"O-kaaaay," he said. The look in her eye said she meant it. "But they don't need to know that, do they?"

"Lie, you mean," she said.

"It's not like they're particularly smart," he said. "I lie to them all the time."

"What happens if they don't believe me?"

 _The brand_ , he thought. _The sword, if she's lucky_. "Nothing good."

"They'll kill me," she said flatly.

"Yeah." She was smart.

"Very well." Her hands went to her hair and she began to pull at it, taking it down from its wild bun. Bits of leaves and various thongs and hairpins fell out of it as she worked.

Anders watched, fascinated. Once it was down, combed roughly through with her fingers, she looked entirely different.

"What think you?" she asked. "Two braids? One?"

"Two," he said. "It's younger looking."

"As you say," she agreed and got to work.

"Have they brought you a robe?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"Ask for one," he said.

There was a scraping, far down the corridor that ran to the door and Anders bolted to his feet. "Be nice," he said. "Pretend."

"I will," she said.

He scrambled up Andraste and wedged himself into the nook again.

"Will you return?"

He smiled at her. "I'll see you soon," he whispered, and wriggled away.


	2. Chapter 2

Two days later as they sat in the dining hall, eating the evening meal, the clank of armor at the door sent a hush through the room. The First Enchanter stood and came down into the clear space between the tables to greet the four templars who entered, surrounding their small prisoner. The Knight Commander led them, his step brisk.

"Knight Commander," said Irving.

"First Enchanter," said Greagoir. "This mage has been found innocent of blood magery. Will you accept her under your charge?"

"I will," said Irving, smiling kindly.

"Yes!" Anders said softly.

Daylen kicked him under the table.

The templars stood back, revealing Morrigan, dark hair braided on either side of her face, blue and yellow robes neat. Someone had healed her. She stared at the floor and did not react until Irving put his hand on her shoulder, at which point she startled and looked up.

"You are an apprentice now, child," he said.

Greagoir bowed, shallow and precise, and Irving returned it. The templars left, all except the one guard at the door.

"Find a seat," said Irving, urging Morrigan toward the apprentice table.

Anders remembered, so clearly, his first day, and all the faces, avid eyes and whispers and giggles. He shifted in his seat, just slightly, nudging Rochelle along the bench. She went, with ill grace, allowing him to open a spot between Daylen and himself.

Morrigan's eyes darted toward him, widened and then she sniffed, tipped her chin up, and walked down the long length of the hall to the seat. Her back was straight, her gait unhurried, as if she were the Queen of Antiva and they all her court, glad to wait upon her pleasure. When she settled in next to Anders, the buzz of conversation at last rose up again.

She was trembling, just a bit.

He leaned in toward her. "Good for you."

She sniffed again, more fiercely. "You never came back."

"So? You didn't need me to," he said, shoving the bread basket at her. "Sailed through, am I right? I told you I'd see you soon."

"Of course I did not need you to," she snapped.

"This is Daylen," said Anders. "Daylen, say hello."

"Hello," said Daylen with a friendly smile.

"This is Rochelle, she's terrible at everything but Entropy, the little guy is Finn, the gorgeous brunette is Lysha ..." He read her stiff expression and dropped the introductions. "But you don't need to remember any of them."

"Hey!" said Lysha.

"For now," said Anders, giving Lysha his best smile. "Later, of course, you will be impressed by their many fine ... features."

Lysha pursed her lips and glared at him in the way that meant she was trying not to smile.

"Did they test you yet?" asked Daylen.

"The endless prodding and asking me to do things I'd mastered as a small child? Yes."

"So - what schools are you proficient in?"

"Primal, Entropy, Creation and Spirit," said Morrigan, sniffing the stew carefully.

There was a brief silence.

"What, all of them?" asked Lysha.

"They are all magic, are they not?" Morrigan looked up. "My mother thought them all useful."

"Yes, but ... usually there's one or two that you're particularly good at," said Anders. "I'm primarily Creation and Spirit. Daylen's Primal."

"Primal," said Lysha, raising her hand. "It's the most common."

Morrigan was eying them dubiously. "I thought - are these not the - are not all students educated in all schools?"

"Well, sure, but when they discover your strength you're steered toward the advanced classes in that school, or specializations." Anders summoned his wisp again. "They think I could become a spirit healer, which," he allowed himself a moment of subdued swagger, "is pretty rare."

"Yes, Wynne is just champing at the bit to get at you," said Rochelle. "Enjoy _those_ classes."

"I do not understand," said Morrigan. "Should you not learn everything?"

"There's not enough hours in the day to learn everything," said Rochelle, rolling her eyes.

Morrigan folded her arms. "That is ridiculous," she said. "If you don't take every advantage available, you can be sure that one day you will meet someone who has. The world is not kind. There are no rules, to say, 'well, you can be good at this, and I will be good at that and then when you cannot do something, I'll step in and do it for you.'"

"That's ... actually exactly how the world works," said Lysha. "It's called civilization."

"Rabbits may call the hutch whatever they like," said Morrigan. "It does not make them less caged."

Anders barked a laugh.

Lysha went red in the face and opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say was drowned out by the evening bell.

"Dormitories," said Irving, standing. "Sleep well and rise rested."

"Eat, and then sleep immediately?" asked Morrigan as they shuffled out. "What are they fattening you up for?"

Anders snickered.

"Am I amusing?" said Morrigan, her back going all stiff and her chin coming up.

"You're amazing," said Anders and tugged one of her braids. "I think you might be my current favorite person. Granted, the competition isn't particularly stiff."

"Hey!" said Daylen. Anders gave him a friendly punch on the arm.

Morrigan's mouth came open and she gave him a wide-eyed, uncertain look.

A young Enchanter stepped over. "Come along, Morrigan, the girl's dormitories are this way."

Morrigan cast one last look over her shoulder and Anders waved, cheerfully. Things were going to get fun.

Anders didn't see much of Morrigan for the next few days, and when he did, she had the same Enchanter at her elbow, guiding her along, showing her where everything was, taking her to all her classes and making sure she settled in. Morrigan was paler and more scornful each time he caught a glimpse of her.

On the fourth day, she and her mentor showed up at the door of Thekla's classroom just as the lesson was about to begin.

"Enchanter Thekla," said the woman. She looked a bit harried. Morrigan looked smug.

"Bernice," said Thekla. "What brings you ..."

"Can you please tell Morrigan why it is that you don't allow brand new apprentices in your classes?"

Thekla looked at Morrigan, then at Bernice, and then over his class.

Anders held his breath.

"Generally it is because Force magic is difficult to master and the process is eased if the student already has a grasp of the fundamentals of Primal and at least one other school," said Thekla. "But I require nothing other than a demonstration of the student's skills. I was present at Morrigan's testing. If she wishes to join, she may."

Bernice looked - she looked _thwarted_. It wasn't a good look on her. "Very well," she said and gave Morrigan a shove that was a little harder than it needed to be. "I will see you in two hours."

Morrigan stumbled a bit and then recovered herself. Her chin came up in the gesture that Anders was already becoming familiar with and she stalked away from Bernice to take the chair in front of Anders.

Thekla took a breath as Bernice went off in high dudgeon. "Yesterday we discussed how the earth exerts a force on everything, living and inert ..."

Anders leaned forward and tugged one of Morrigan's braids. She whirled in her seat, glaring. He grinned. She flushed, turned back around, and brought both braids over her shoulders away from him.

By the end of the class, she had managed to flatten her crumpled ball of paper twice. Thekla called her aside as the rest of the apprentices gathered their notes and quills and much-abused paper balls.

"You have amazing aptitude," Anders heard him say. "Did you study Force magic ... before?"

"No," she said.

"You're a natural," said Thekla. "How are you settling in?"

"I'm -" she cut herself off and glanced at Anders. "I'm happy to be here," she said tonelessly.

"I see. Well. Apply yourself," he said. "I'm sure that you will go far."

Anders trailed Morrigan out into the hallway and, while she stood and looked uncertainly down the hall, grabbed her hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's dodge your gaoler."

She looked at him sidelong, lifted her chin, and came.

He took her up to the Harrowing chamber, the only place in the tower with windows. They were too high up to get to, of course, but the sun came in and lay in warm streaks across the stone floor. Anders dropped his books by the door and lay down in the one of the warm washes of light.

"I love afternoons up here," he said, stretching. "Technically we aren't supposed to be here but if they really wanted us to stay out, they would guard it better, don't you think?"

He turned his head to see her standing in the next sunbeam over, face titled up, eyes closed. She opened her hands as he watched, spreading the fingers out, palms up, lifting them like an offering. She opened her eyes and looked at him. They flashed nearly gold in the sun. "How do you live like this?" she asked. "Without air, without wind? I haven't seen the sun since they brought me here ..."

"There's gardens," said Anders. "But you need permission to visit."

"I hate this place," she whispered.

"I do too," said Anders.

They sat silently for a while, as the sun crept across the floor.

"My mother isn't coming," she said eventually.

"Yeah," said Anders. "Mine didn't either."


	3. Chapter 3

By the end of the month, she was in all his classes, and Daylen's, and taking extra lessons from Thekla and Niall and even Uldred, who taught Advanced Entropy and was known for making apprentices cry. She practiced all the time, at meals, in the hallways between classes, on the rare afternoons that Anders could persuade her away to the Harrowing Chamber.

It made her no friends. Not that she was easy to like to begin with. Daylen still couldn't understand why Anders kept seeking her out.

"She's not _that_ good-looking," Daylen complained in the library.

"Never said she was," said Anders, even though, in fact, Morrigan was the prettiest girl in the Tower and everyone knew it.

"She's no going to kiss you. She doesn't kiss anyone."

Several people had tried. After she'd set Kinnon's hair on fire, the attempts had come to an abrupt end.

"I don't want to kiss her," Anders said.

"Liar."

"Well, I wouldn't say no," Anders admitted. "But that's not why I like her."

"She's a bitch."

Anders grinned. "Isn't she just."

"Do you want to stay here after study period?" Daylen shifted a bit closer.

"I'm going up to the H.C.," said Anders.

"With her," said Daylen flatly.

"Come with," said Anders. "She's not that bad, seriously."

When Morrigan came into the Harrowing Chamber and saw Daylen sitting next to Anders - very close to Anders - she halted just inside the door and glared at the both of them.

Anders got up and came over to take her hand and tug her into the room. She came, stiff legged and suspicious.

"Hi," said Daylen, lamely.

Morrigan stuck her chin up.

Anders sighed.

It went better once he brought out the butter tarts he'd lifted from the kitchens.

They reduced the tarts to crumbs, and then Anders told the story about sneaking into the templar quarters and putting an egg into every left boot, and then Daylen did his impression of Irving and Greagoir having a fight and even got a laugh out of Morrigan, and by the time the light had left the floor and was slipping up the far wall, they were friends.

"Is your mum really the Witch of the Wilds?" Daylen asked as they reluctantly got themselves together to leave.

Morrigan paused, head down, a sheaf of dark hair hiding her face. "Yes."

"What's she like?"

Morrigan flipped her hair back with toss of her head. "Strong," she said.

"I found this book of stories," he started.

Morrigan's lips quirked. "Indeed. Rumors and half-truths and outright lies. She prefers it that way."

"So ... she doesn't eat Chasind men?"

Morrigan's smile grew. "I'm sure I couldn't say. She's never done it front of me, but that means little."

Daylen folded his arms. "Well, what did she do in front of you?"

Morrigan eyed him, then looked at Anders and then lifted her chin. "She shapeshifted."

Anders sat up sharply. "What?"

"What, like the elves?" Daylen asked.

"Where do you think they learned it?" asked Morrigan scornfully. "She's the Witch of the Wilds."

"What did she become?" Anders leaned forward.

"A wolf," said Morrigan.

"Do you know how?" asked Daylen breathlessly.

"No," said Morrigan. "If I did, I would have slipped my bonds and escaped the templars who captured me." She shoved her hair angrily behind her ear. "She was going to teach me. Soon."

Anders sat back again. Shapeshifting. He looked up at the windows, so high above. Not a wolf. A bird? A squirrel?

"You need to study the animal very carefully, to know its body and its habits and instincts, before you can attempt it," said Morrigan. "That's all I know."

Well. That put a damper on things. What animals were even available in the Tower? Even their meat came already butchered.

"Well," said Anders. "Theories are all very well, but if you don't know the practical application, you aren't getting anywhere."

"Too bad there isn't a textbook we could study," said Daylen.

"Somehow I don't think that 'Flemeth's Possibly Malificarum Spellbook' is going to be shelved next to Elvorn's Grande Beastiary," said Anders.

"Actually, the Tower supposedly does have the grimoire of the Witch of the Wilds," said Daylen.

"What?" asked Morrigan.

"What?" asked Anders.

"It's in the library archive records," said Daylen.

"Show me," said Morrigan. Her eyes were alight in a way that Anders hadn't seen since her arrival.

"You need permission from ..." Daylen said.

"Show me!"

Sneaking into the library stacks was easy enough. It was a favorite spot to tryst for most of the apprentices and younger mages who still shared living quarters. The signals were subtle but clear - a book on the floor at the end of a row, a cowl draped over a shelf. You were only likely to be stopped if you were going in alone.

Anders dropped a particularly saucy wink at Enchanter Gaos as they passed the reference desk. Daylen snorted into his sleeve and Morrigan turned an amazing shade of red.

"He will think that I - with the two of you ..."

"So?" Anders took her hand and pulled her into the History section.

"I am not, this place, I -"

"No one cares except you, Morri," said Daylen, an unusual sharp note to his voice. "It's just kissing. It's not important."

"My name is Morrigan."

Daylen rolled his eyes. "It's a nickname. Like friends have?"

"A diminutive of a name demeans the person who -"

"This way," said Anders. "I'll talk to the trank and you and Morri can grab the reference."

She opened her mouth again, bit her lip, and then nodded.

The main library records were kept by the Tranquil, and housed in a separate, fire-proof room. Every book that ever passed through the Tower, on every subject, a summary of the contents and the record of its categorization and/or disposal. Books on blood magic were burned, Anders knew that much. What had happened to Flemeth's grimoire was up in the air.

"Good afternoon," he said to the grey-haired Tranquil woman sitting at the desk beside the low door to the records room.

"Good afternoon," she replied, setting down her pen and looking up at him. The brand on her forehead was old and faded. They didn't brand anymore, here in the Ferelden Circle, but there were a few still around who'd been made Tranquil under the old Knight Commander, or who had been transferred from other Circles. "Can I assist you?"

"I was wondering if you could explain to me how you decide where the books on spirit healing are cataloged. Some are in Creation, some are in Spirit, some I can't seem to find at all."

"That is not correct," said the Tranquil. "The section on Spirit Healing is a subcategory of Spirit. All books should be within that section."

"Well, let me show you," said Anders. "It's a mess."

She stood and let him lead her away. Behind her back, he saw Morri close her eyes, move her lips, and then flick her fingers upward. Daylen pushed the door open and they slipped in.

They holed up in the far corner of Comparative Cultures, tucked halfway under a reading table, bent together over the faded page and a half on what was apparently known as the 'Black Grimoire,' a name that made Morri amused, Daylen impressed and Anders disdainful.

"'Diverse spells and enchantments of unknown origin,'" Anders read. "Well, that's helpful."

"Keep reading," said Daylan. "Look, 'found on the body of Chasind apostate.'"

"The Chasind are unlettered," said Morri. "They don't have books. It must have been my mother's."

"That's a bit of a leap," said Anders.

"Where is it now?" Morri demanded.

"Uhm, let's see, it was examined by the Tranquil and pronounced to not be malificarum, spent some time in deep storage, no surprise there, and ... oh."

"What?" Morri and Daylen leaned forward.

"Signed out, four months ago, by the First Enchanter." Anders looked up. "According to this, he still has it."

Morri's eyes narrowed.

"Oh, no," said Daylen. "No. The records room is one thing, but this is the First Enchanter we are talking about."

Anders looked at Morri and then at Daylen.

"No!"

"Daylen," said Anders, reasonably.

"No!"

"You don't have to actually come in with us." He sidled a bit closer to Daylen, bumping their hips together. "Just - help out. Like when I visited Morri in the cells."

"You helped with that?" Morri sounded startled.

"I'm his friend," said Daylen. "Friends help."

"You're the best," said Anders.

"Wait, I never - "

Anders kissed him, firmly, drowning his protest. Morri watched, mouth dropping open a bit, eyes widening. Anders let Daylen go, rubbing a thumb affectionately along his jaw. Morri averted her eyes quickly, blushing.

"Oh, for the Maker's sake," said Daylen, trying hard to sound put-upon. "You're going to get us all tranked, Anders."

"Nope," said Anders. "Never happen."

"Where does this certainty stem from?" asked Morri sarcastically.

"Daylen's too hapless, I'm too charming, and you, sweetheart, are entirely too pretty."

She scrunched up her nose but couldn't entirely keep the pleased look off her face.

"I'll come up with something," said Anders. "Just - give me a little time."

"What are we going to do with these?" Daylen waved the papers.

"Leave 'em here," said Anders. "Wad them up and shove them behind some books, it'll be ages before anyone finds them."

They left, Anders swaggering in the lead again, Daylen mooching along behind, and Morri with her chin so high she was practically looking at the ceiling.


	4. Chapter 4

The bench outside the First Enchanter's office was narrow and hard. Anders had spend time there before, waiting to hear what hardship his sins had earned him this time, and was familiar with the slow loss of feeling in his buttocks and legs. Morri squirmed and sighed and glared at him as though it were something he was doing to her.

"Stop wriggling," he told her. "It doesn't help."

"Are you sure that Daylen -"

"He'll be fine," he assured her. "It's foolproof."

"You've tested it with other fools?"

"Just ... relax," he said. "It's all going to work."

Irving's door opened and Wynne came out. She gave them both her usual, size-you-up-and-find-you-wanting stare and then nodded toward the open door. "Go on in, then. Try not to waste his time."

"Old biddy," Morri muttered under her breath as they stood.

"Old I may be, but my ears work just fine," said Wynne as she walked away.

Anders elbowed Morri, who elbowed him back, and then they walked together into the office.

It was large and cold and drafty, much like every room in the Tower. Irving's huge desk dominated the far end of the room, piled with papers and potions and books. Bookcases lined the walls. Morri eyed them with interest as they went forward, but Anders was relatively sure that Irving wouldn't have left such a rare and potentially dangerous book out where anyone could see it. It would be hidden. In his desk, perhaps, or even in his bedchamber, through the small door to the left.

"Ah, Anders," said Irving, rising from his chair. "How very pleasant to see you for a reason unrelated to arson or unauthorized swimming excursions. And Morrigan. Settling in well, I hear. Your dedication to your studies is commendable."

"Thank you, sir," Morri said demurely.

"We wanted to talk about specialization," said Anders.

"It's a bit early," said Irving, "especially for you, Morrigan, but I see no reason why we can't discuss it at least. Spirit healing, Anders?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "I want to help people."

"I warn you," said Irving, "you will need to do quite a lot of rebuilding trust if you intend to apply for assignment outside the Tower. Gregoire has decided that you are a flight risk."

"It was a prank!" Anders lied. "I never meant to actually go anywhere."

"It cost you," said Irving severely. "And I don't mean the time you spend in the cells. Your behaviour must become exemplary, if you want to earn the freedoms and respect that Wynne enjoys. I think studying under her will benefit you in more ways than one."

"Yes, sir," said Anders, suppressing a sigh. He'd always known that Wynne was the only path toward spirit healing.

"And you, young lady," said Irving. "Your options are wide open."

"Entropy," she said firmly. "And Force."

"It is early for you to be making this decision," he said. "I will authorize Enchanters Thekla and Uldred to further your studies into more advanced areas, but keep in mind that you can change your mind. You have an exceptional mind, Morrigan. Don't seek to close any doors just yet."

She smiled at him, just the tiniest hint of white teeth showing. "I fully agree, sir."

"Well, then," said Irving and Anders felt the first small pang of panic. Daylen hadn't - what if he'd been found - "if there is nothing else?"

Morri's smile went stiff and strange and her eyes darted to Anders.

Oh, Void, she's going to blow it, he thought despairingly. "Um, yes, there was, um," he fumbled, thinking frantically. "Um ..." Inspiration struck. "Can you authorize Morri to help in the gardens?" he asked. "I know she hasn't been here a year yet, but she's really good with potions, better than me, even, and I know that she would really be helpful ..."

Irving was already holding up a hand, shaking his head. "Anders," he said sternly. "You know that's out of the question. Morrigan has done very well but it isn't a matter of her behaviour. Permission to leave the Tower, even to the gardens, are under the Templar's purview. Given the circumstances of her arrival, I think it best if she doesn't come to Gregoire's notice again for a while, don't you?"

Anders opened his mouth to respond just as the screaming started.

Stay here," Irving snapped and then he was out the door, closing it behind him.

Morri was off her chair before the latch had fallen, flinging herself at the desk, scrabbling at the drawers.

"Careful!" Anders yelped. "We have to put it back the way it was."

Dark cover of indeterminate leather, set with a faded gilt dragon. Approximately one foot square.

Anders scanned the bookshelves and felt his stomach sink.

"It won't be on a shelf," Morri said. "He is reading it, studying it, yes? Therefore it must be close to hand." She tugged at a drawer. "This is locked."

Anders came over. "Got a hairpin?"

She gave him a look of withering scorn. "Circle education," she said. "Carefully structured ignorance." She pressed her fingertips to the lock, shut her eyes, and opened the Fade a bare crack. The magic that came through was hardly enough to call a trickle, not sufficient to so much as light a candle, but Anders felt the stir of Force across his senses, and then the lock clicked open.

Her smile was a study of smugness.

Inside was a sheaf of papers covered in Irving's careful script, several books on the myths and legends of the Wilds, and a battered grimoire, bound in dark leather, with a few flecks of gilt still clinging to the embossed dragon on the front.

Morri looked down at it, face impassive. Then she reached in and seized it, like someone plunging their hand into hot water. She let out a breath and then pulled the book out. "My mother often warded her things," she said at Anders's enquiringly look. "Those of them she was not willing to share with me."

"Warded how?"

"Various ways," she said. "It does not matter." She opened the book. "This is my mother's," she whispered. "This is her cypher." She flipped through the pages eagerly.

"Can you read it?" Anders looked over her shoulder at the incomprehensible scratches.

"Yes," she said. "Mostly."

"What's it say? Are they spells?"

"No, I - they're rituals, mostly."

"Rituals for what?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "I'm not pleasure-reading, I am attempting to find ... ah!"

"What?"

"Shapeshifting," she murmured. Her brow furrowed. "These are notes, trials. She was working it out."

"Your mother invented it?"

"Don't be foolish," said Morri. "She was attempting to teach it to someone and could not. I - I need more time." She looked up. "We have to take the book."

"No," said Anders. "No, that's not a good idea."

Her lips pursed.

Voices sounded in the hallway. Adrenaline leapt in Anders's veins. He cast one look at the door, then reached out and ripped the swath of paper out of the book in one decisive movement. As Morri strangled on a cry, he snapped the book shut, dropped it in the drawer, and closed the drawer. The lock clicked shut. He shoved the paper in his robes, hauled Morri back to the chairs, and, as the door opened, dragged her up against him and kissed her.

The Knight Commander strode in, hauling Daylen behind him by the ear. Irving brought up the rear, looking harassed and slightly singed.

"...your prize pupil, I warned you when he began his association with that Anders ..." Greagoir stopped short as Morri shoved away from Anders, her face red. "Anders," he said. "What are you doing?"

"Uh..." said Anders intelligently.

Morri glared at him in outrage. Daylen, hanging by the ear, glared at him in betrayal. Greagoir glared at him in disapproval. Irving only rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

"Having a moment?" Anders tried.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" said Greagoir, shaking Day, who gave up on his glare to wince in pain. "Explosive glyphs in the Templar privy! Ser Kinrick could have been badly injured!"

Anders bit the inside of his cheek savagely to keep from laughing. Kinrick, with his poking, prodding fingers. He drew breath to deny it, and then saw the look on Daylen's face. "Yes, ser," he said. "All my idea."

"Oh, Anders," said Irving, in weary exasperation. "Why?"

Shit. Shit. "I uh, may have made a bet," he improvised wildly.

"A bet?" Greagoir's face had become so pinched it was in danger of collapsing in on itself.

"That I could kiss Morrigan in the First Enchanter's office," said Anders.

Daylen gaped. Greagoir's eyes narrowed. Irving tilted his head slightly. Oh, Andraste's ass, they weren't buying it ...

Morri's slap just about took the skin off his cheek. "You, you, insufferable cretin!" she shrieked.

"Now then," said Irving, hurrying forward to pull her away. "None of that. No matter how much he might deserve it."

"Three days in solitary," said Greagoir.

"Not for Daylen, surely," said Irving.

"He laid the glyphs," said Greagoir implacably.

"I told him it was a paralysis glyph," said Anders, clutching his smarting cheek. "He wouldn't have - he didn't know. Please! It was my fault. Really."

"Your loyalty is admirable," said Irving, "if a little late. You should have thought about the consequences of your actions before hand."

"Indeed," said Greagoir.

"Still, if Daylen was misled ... it was a mere prank he intended, not to endanger anyone."

"One day," said Greagoir. "And that's as far as I will bend on the subject, First Enchanter."

"As you say," said Irving. He patted Morri on the shoulder. "I'm very sorry that you were caught up in this, Morrigan. Perhaps you should rethink the company you keep."

"Perhaps I should," she said.

Day and he each got a templar to haul them to solitary. They'd gone five steps down the hall from Irving's office before Anders remembered the pages. Shit. Shit! The first thing they did to you before they stuck you in the poky, windowless cell, was strip you to smallclothes.

He twisted in the templar's grasp, ignoring the way the steel-clad fingers tightened bruisingly on his arm. "Morri!"

She was just leaving the office. Her head whipped around at his call.

"Your um, your notes," he said. "You loaned me your notes, you should have them back. For studying. Ow!"

"Shut it, mageling," said the templar.

Anders pulled the sheaf of paper out of his robe and held it toward her. "Since we won't be able to study together for a while." He gave her his most charming grin.

Morri's mouth compressed. She marched up, snatched the pages, and then marched away again, back straight as a spear.

"I don't think you'll be studying with her again ever," said Day's templar. His grin was evident in his voice.

"Let's go, loverboy," said the other, yanking Anders along.

Anders went, bowing his head to hide his smile.

Three days was nothing, he could do it standing on his head. Anders had almost convinced himself of it when they reached the dank hallway lined with heavy iron doors and the suppressive weight of the anti-magic wards. He'd been in the regular cells before, overnight, for such pranks as stealing pies and the eggs in the boots thing, but this was different. He hadn't realized just how much.

"Well, wait," he began but his templar was already stripping his robes roughly off with gauntleted hands. The articulation of the finger plates caught in his shirt and ripped it at the shoulder. "Hey!" he said.

"Shut it," said the templar. The eyeslit of his helm was a band of darkness but Anders could hear the smile in his voice. He opened the door with a shrill scream of rusted metal. "In you go." He shoved Anders in the back hard enough to send him flailing against the far wall, which, really, wasn't very far. The cell was tiny, perhaps four paces by two, and held nothing but a very small, very musty pile of hay and a chipped pot.

"Not even a blanket?" Anders asked, already shivering in his shirt and braies.

"You just don't know when to quit flapping your lips, do you?" asked the templar. He drew his sword and Anders threw himself back against the wall, hands out in futile defense, head averted.

 _the smell of the char was still heavy in the air, his mother was crying, four of them, there were four, tall and silver in the morning sun and one drew his sword, the sound of the metal ringing against the sheath like a kind of magic, choking his mother's sobs down into silence. "Don't interfere, woman."_

The sword flashed white like lightning in the dimness of the cell and then Anders was sliding down the wall, stunned and gasping, fingers twitching weakly.

"If you can't keep silent," said the templar. "We'll just have to do it for you."

The door slammed, taking the light with it, other than a small strip along the floor. Faintly, Anders heard Daylen's voice, and then the muffled thud of another door, and then nothing.

He curled up on the floor, too weak and winded to even crawl onto the straw. _Hate you hate you hate you_. Useless tears welled up in his eyes. He hadn't been Silenced since his trip to the Tower, had almost forgotten what it felt like.

"Nnnnnhhhhh," he said against the cold flagstone. He clenched his trembling hands. "Nnnnn ..."

It took him nearly a glass before he managed it.

"Nnnnoo. Nno." He took a breath, pressed his tongue to the top of his mouth. "No," he said, clearly, and then laughed. It sounded more like a wheezing gasp than a laugh but he would take what he could get.


	5. Chapter 5

Anders stepped into the bath, savouring the sting of the heat on his skin, the faint herbal scent of the soap. His fingers and toes hurt as he submerged them, warming for the first time in three days. Bit by bit, his body relaxed into the water. The quiet murmur of a pair of mages at the far end of the baths was a comfort as well. Voices. People.

Shhhhing, metal scraping free, unmistakable, and Anders startled so violently that water slopped over onto the floor. The mage in front of the mirror, holding his razor, stared at Anders.

He exhaled, dropped his back against the side of the tub, and tried to slow his galloping heart.

"Hey!"

Again water washed in a tide over the edge of the tub and Daylen leapt back, his face a perfect 'O' of surprise.

Anders gripped the side of the tub and glared at him. "What?"

"Just - I - wanted to see how you ... since you're out and all ..." Day trailed off. "Just wanted to tell you that I wasn't mad."

"Good," said Anders. "Great."

"Even though this will be on my record," Day said.

"Wonderful."

"Even after I get Harrowed."

Anders looked at him sidelong. "But you aren't mad."

"No." Day smiled. "Morri is, though."

"Great," Anders muttered.

"I'll let her tell you about it," said Day. "It's a bit confusing. Get out of there and we'll go find her."

Morri was in the main apprentice hall, practicing elemental magic. Ice rose out of her left hand, fire out of her right, and they clashed together in front of her face. Steam and ice crystals and sparks surrounded her. Twenty paces away, a templar stood against the wall, his helm angled ever so slightly toward her.

"Morri!" Day called out.

She closed her hands and the magic winked out. "Is he -?" she said, turning, and then cut herself off when she saw Anders.

"He's out," Day confirmed.

"I hear you're angry with me," said Anders, trying for an easy grin.

"I am," she said.

"Well, I'm sorry that I kissed you like that," said Anders. "No, really. I know that you -"

"That's not what -"

"I won't do it again if -"

"I didn't -"

"So don't worry -"

"Stop talking!" she barked. "I'm not angry about the kiss. I am angry that you confessed."

"Wait, what?" asked Anders.

"There was no need for you to have spent three days in solitary," said Morri.

"Wait, what?" asked Day. "If he hadn't, I would have been three days. It was the least he could do. It was his stupid plan."

"Which you agreed to," said Morri. "It is irrational for two people to pay when the punishment could have been shouldered by one."

"You are one heartless bitch," said Day. "I mean, really. I can't believe that I thought you were my friend."

Morri looked as though Day had struck her. "I - but it isn't - why is it better for both to take the blame?"

"I saved Day two days in that place," said Anders. "I - I'd do it again," he said, although he wasn't sure it was true.

Day smiled at him and bumped shoulders.

Morri looked at the two of them, her brow furrowing.

"Because we're friends," said Anders. "'S why we did the whole thing in the first place. For you to get your book. Because we're your friends."

"Huh," said Day sullenly. "Don't know about that."

"Shut it," said Anders. "We are."

"I thought," said Morri, falteringly, and then dropped her voice. "I thought it was so that you might learn to shapeshift."

"Well, yeah," said Anders. "If we ever figure it out, which, honestly, we probably won't, not to burst your happy bubble."

"I will," said Morri. "I will. I swear it. And when I do, I will teach it to you." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said to Day. "I - "

"Oh, nevermind," said Day. "You grew up in a swamp, I can't expect you to have manners." He gave her a smile, the one that crinkled up his nose and made his eyes all squint-sparkly and worked on everyone.

It worked on her. "Friends," she said, as though working out a difficult glyph.

"You'll get the hang of it," said Anders, magnanimously.

Anders was terrible at languages, ancient, dead ones especially, but he made a point to go with Morri and Day when they started working on Flemeth's code. It was composed of several old languages, Elvhen and Tevinter included, and was written in some unholy mix of dwarven runes, some scratchings that Morri said were Chasind shaman symbols, and regular trade script.

"This is going to be a long project," said Day, flipping through the pages that Anders had stolen.

"I can already translate much of it," said Morri.

"Much?" Anders asked.

"The version she taught me didn't have Elvhen in it," she said.

"Your mother had two separate secret cyphers?" asked Anders.

"She probably has twenty," said Morri, with the prickly, irritated pride she always exhibited when she spoke of Flemeth. "I shall have to study Elvhen."

"You can't," said Day glumly. "I tried, last year. The books we have here are rubbish, just a bunch of histories and essays about the role the elves played in Andraste's March. The only people who speak it anymore are the Dalish."

"Hmmmn," said Morri.

Anders was rolling bandages in the infirmary under Wynne's watchful eye when the templars marched Morri and a fuming, red-faced elf girl. Thora, Anders thought, deft hand with ice, near her Harrowing. Morri bore scratches down her cheek. Thora had a blackening eye and a bloodied nose.

"What in the name of Andraste," said Wynne severely.

"Fighting," said the templar. "In the middle of the hallway."

"She provoked me!" Thera wiped at the blood under her nose. "Little hedge brat."

"If you did not know the answer to my question, you had only to say," said Morri.

"It's none of your business!" Thera spat, spraying blood. "What right do you have to ask?"

"Enough!" Wynne stepped between them. "Thank you, Ser Kay."

"It was just a spat," he said. "Neither of them reached for magic. I don't think we have to trouble the Knight-Captain about it."

"Thank you," said Wynne again, lower.

He nodded and left.

"Anders, can you," she gestured at Morri and then wrapped her arm around Thera, who had begun to cry, and led her to the far side of the room.

"What did you do?" he asked, half impressed, half incredulous, as he examined her cheek. Thera's nails, no doubt. An easy fix.

"I need to learn Elvhen," said Morri. "I heard that she had been taken from a clan and thought she might remember something."

"You don't do that," said Anders. "You don't just ask. Not unless someone offers."

She looked abruptly uncertain. "You did," she said. "When I was in the cell."

"That wasn't in front of everyone," he said. "Plus you hadn't been here for years and years."

"I don't understand," she said.

"Morri," he said, his hand pausing halfway to her cheek, glowing with healing energy. "She probably doesn't remember."

Her lips parted, her brows drew together. She looked across the room to where Wynne was healing Thera's nose, one hand on the girl's thin, sagging shoulder.

Anders sent magic through her skin, soothing the angry boil of her body's defenses, chasing out the incipient evil humors, knitting the skin, but her eyes, when she looked up at him afterward, were still wounded.

The next day, Morri was not in Force class. Anders cut out as soon as he was able, slipping the eagle eye of Wynne, who had come to collect him for his Spirit Healing training, and made his way up to the Harrowing Chamber.

Morri was there, shivering a little, sitting in the faded autumn sunshine. She had the torn pages with her, and a sheaf of notes in her crabbed, spiky handwriting. They were spread about her and she hugged her knees in the middle of them and stared at them as if she were waiting for them to do a trick.

"Hey," said Anders.

"My mother has black hair," she said. "It's going grey at her temples and the crown of her head. Her eyes are the same colour as mine, but her lips are thinner. When I was clever at something, she used to tug my earlobe and tell me that I had thrown true, that I was a fitting daughter. It made me feel so proud."

"Morri," said Anders.

"We lived in a house on an island in the swamp. I knew every inch of that swamp, I used to stay away for days at a time and she never worried because she knew I was clever and strong. The bed was creaky but it was warm. I had a mirror once but she - it ..." she trailed away.

Anders stayed silent. What was there to say?

Morri sat upright, yanked the ribbons from her braids, and tossed them down. She unwound her hair, wrenching at the entwined locks until Anders winced in sympathy. When it was loose, she raked her fingers through it, grabbed it up in handfuls and knotted it together at the back of her head, securing it with the ribbons, with an inky quill, with a pair of what looked like expired fire rods, their runes gone dull and flat.

When she was done, her hair was a wild nest of snarls and bits, the feather of the quill sticking out the side. It should have looked ridiculous, but somehow, with her grim face beneath it, it didn't. It looked wild and deliberate and a bit dangerous.

"I'm not going to forget," she said.

He smiled at her and his smile felt different, sharper, hotter. "I believe you."

"If we're going to learn Dalish, we need help," she said.

"I've got a plan," he said. "Well, sort of."

The look she gave him was not entirely filled with hope and enthusiasm.

"Well, it's more your plan. But better."

"My plan?"

"We ask. But not the apprentices."

"Who, then?"

"Nobody you've met," he said.

She crossed her arms. "Stop evading. You're only doing it to amuse yourself."

"You won't like it."

"Anders," she said, irate.

"The oldest person in the Tower," he said. "Someone who will definitely remember."

"Irving?" she said, lips curling in distaste.

"Nope. I'd totally forgot about him until now, because, well, you don't really think of them, do you? They're just there." One hand fisted at her side and he held up his hands. "Just trust me. You'll see."

"Oh, very well," she said. "If this lands you back in the cells, I will not stop to pity you."

"You're a lovely, kind, caring person, and don't let anyone tell you different," he said and poked her in the side.

"If this lands me in the cells, even the Templars will be pitying you."

"Stop, your honeyed words will have me all aflutter."

"Stop it," she said, a smile fighting its way onto her face.

"You words say stop, but your eyes say -" She seized his fingers and bent them backward. "Ow, ow, I'm sorry, your eyes are entirely in agreement, please let go."

"Hmmph," she said, smiling.

"Ow," he complained as they headed down the stairs. "You're a bully, Morri."

She stopped on the stairs, took his hand again, and pulled a thread of magic from the Fade. Green lit up the walls around them and the ache in his fingers melted away. "You're an idiot," she said.

"Thanks."

She still held his hand. Her fingers were warm, the slight tingle of spent magic lingering between their skin. She was looking at his mouth, he realized.

He kissed her.


	6. Chapter 6

"You kissed her."

Day stuck his head over the side of the bunk and glared up-side-downly at Anders.

"Would I do such a thing?" Anders asked airily.

"You did!" Day was slowly turning red, from anger or from the blood rushing into his head. "You came into Ice looking all, all dazed, like you do, and she was smiling. You kissed her."

"Alright, so?" Anders turned over and faced the wall.

"Do you like her better than me?"

"Right now? Yes."

A pause, and then, "Why?"

Anders looked over his shoulder at Day, red faced and upside down and miserable. "She's different."

"What does that even mean?" Day sounded about five, stupid and whiny.

"She's not happy to be patted on the head and to dodge and bow and smile at the Tinheads and, and suck up to some pinch-mouthed old hag to win the right to pick elfroot for an hour a day just to breath some fresh air." Anders turned his back on Day again, unwilling to see his hurt, shocked face. "She wants out. And so do I."

"I do, too," said Day.

"No, you don't," said Anders. "You don't even know what it means."

Silence, and the the rustle of Day's blankets, and then the muffled, faint breathy sound of Day crying. He cried the way they all did, they way they had all learned. As quietly as possible.

Anders lay still, listening, and then poked Day with a foot. "Day."

"Leave me alone."

"Day. I'm sorry."

Silence.

"I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did." Day didn't even sound angry. He just sounded sad.

"Come down."

A pause, and then Day dropped over the side and climbed in with Anders, his face wet, his body warm. They lay for a bit, foreheads pressed together, one of Day's hands resting on Anders's chest.

"Don't go without me," said Day, just as Anders was drifting off to sleep.

"I won't," said Anders.

"Don't leave me," said Day, but Anders was slipping on the edge of the Fade and couldn't pull the words together to answer him. "Don't leave me here."

"Where are we going?" Day asked, again.

"You'll see," said Anders.

"There's nothing back here but storerooms and workrooms and ..." Day trailed off. "No. Anders, I don't think we should."

"There's no rules against it."

"That's because no one wants to do it!"

"What are you talking about?" Morri asked. "Where are we going?" She looked uneasily at the low ceiling, the perfectly clean shelves holding perfectly arranged examples of the Formori's work.

"To the Tranquil quarters," said Day. "Aren't we?"

"Here we go," said Anders, pushed open a door, and walked into a room filled with long tables arranged in orderly rows, each with several people sitting quietly, working with tiny, precise tools to carve gems and work metal. The room smelled of fire and lyrium and caustic chemicals.

"May I assist you?" The woman sitting nearest the door was looking at them.

"We're here to see Nahael," said Anders.

"He is in the resting room," said the woman, her tone level and colourless. "He may be sleeping."

"Thank you," said Anders.

She returned to her work.

"It's down the hall," said Anders, turning to the others. Day and Morri were both staring into the room, Day uneasily, Morri with nostrils flared and chin up. She looked disdainful, but her eyes were just a little too wide. "Come on," said Anders. "They're just Tranks."

The resting room was smaller, the chairs more comfortable. Five people sat there with bent backs and wizened hands, slowly and carefully working on various projects. One woman embroidered the edge of a hood. Another polished the curve of a amulet with a chamois. In the corner, a tiny old man was hunched around the headpiece of a staff, smoothing the wood with a small piece of pumice.

"Nahael?" asked Anders.

The old man looked up, revealing wrinkles, a long, ancient scar that cut across the corner of his mouth, and a faded starburst on his brow. Beneath it, even more faded, were tattoos, curling graceful lines on his cheeks and temples. "That is I," he said. His voice was musical despite his age, with an accent that Anders could not place.

"You are Dalish," said Morri, her voice nearly as dead of emotion as the old man's.

"I was," he answered. "Now I am Formori. How may I assist you?"

"See?" said Anders, resisting the urge to fidget under Nahael's unwavering gaze. "He's perfect."

"Do you speak Elvhen?" Morri asked stiffly.

"I do," said Nahael.

"Will you teach it to me?" A hint of eagerness showed in Morri, a slight shift of her body toward the elderly man.

"I am forbidden to teach," he said.

"Forbidden?" Day said. "Why?"

"My unholy rituals and knowledge have no place in these Chantry-hallowed halls."

They stared at him in silence.

"Did someone tell you that?" Anders asked finally.

"The knight-commander gave me these words. I am to tell them to anyone who asks me to teach."

"That doesn't seem like Knight-Commander Greagoir," said Day.

"It would have been the previous one. Or the one before that, even," said Anders. "Look at the brand. He's been here fifty years or more."

"I have been in the tower for seventy-four years and eight months," said Nahael.

Morri made a small sound.

"Is there any way that you could teach us?" said Anders.

"I am forbidden -"

"Yes, yes, but could that be gotten 'round somehow?"

"Only the knight-commander may rescind a knight-commander's order," said Nahael.

Morri was pale and silent on the way back to the Tower proper.

"We'll find a way," said Anders encouragingly. "Greagoir isn't quite the stick in the mud he tries to appear."

"He's quite reasonable," said Day.

"I don't know if I'd go so far as that," said Anders.

"I'll die first," said Morri abruptly.

"Uhm," said Anders. "What?"

She whirled, her golden eyes burning. "Seventy-four years?" She shook her head. "I will not endure it. I will end my life before I end up like him."

She turned again and, before Anders could reach out, ran off down the corridor, her slippers scuffing on the stone.

Next Force class, Anders stayed behind after the other students filed out, watching Morri's thicket head bob amongst the neatly groomed apprentices until she had gone.

"Anders," said Thekla, gathering his papers. "I've been meaning to speak with you."

"What? Why? I didn't do it," said Anders, before he could rein in his mouth.

"I wanted to know how you were doing. After your stint in solitary."

"Oh, that," said Anders, waving his hand. "Worth it just for the privacy."

Thekla raised an eyebrow. "It's not pleasant down there," he said. "If you want to talk about it ..."

"Really, I'm - wait," said Anders. "You've been in solitary?"

"Once," said Thekla. "That was enough for me."

"What - no, um, that's not what I wanted to talk about," said Anders, even as he noticed how bright and blue the Enchanter's eyes were, and he wasn't that old, and suddenly he'd been in solitary, what? "Um, it's Morri."

Thekla smiled down at his papers. "Oh," he said.

"She's um, she wants to study Elvhen."

"That's a difficult one," said Thekla. "The Dalish are very reclusive and loathe to share their culture."

"Yeah, all the books are crap. Uh, I mean, they aren't very helpful," said Anders. "But anyway, there is a Dalish here at the Tower, he could teach her."

"Anders," said Thekla, carefully putting down his papers. "Anders, please don't tell me what you're about to tell me."

"That we went to see Nahael?" asked Anders.

Thekla closed his eyes and pressed the pads of his fingers to his forehead. "Of course you did," he said.

"Uh, well, he said that he couldn't teach her because he wasn't allowed to teach. But that if the Knight Commander said it was alright ..."

"Anders," said Thekla. "Stop. Just ... look. I can't - Maker. Look, come to my office after dinner, here, I'll give you a pass, and I will try to explain why that is a really terrible idea, alright?"

Anders opened his mouth, thought of all the ways an evening hall pass could be utilized, and then shut it again.

"And don't talk about Nahael to anyone else," added Thekla.

"Yeah, of course," said Anders.

"So it's some huge secret," said Anders to Day as they batted a ball of fire back and forth in Advanced Elementals. "I bet he was a malificar. I bet he killed a hundred Templars and they had to hunt him down with an army."

"This is a good thing?" asked Day. "That's someone we want to learn from?"

"Why not?" Anders said, just barely fielding the fireball. He shook his fingers to cool them as it passed back into Day's control. "It's not like he can summon demons now."

"I don't like the Tranquil," said Day. "They creep me out."

Anders shrugged. "They can't do anything to you, Day. That's sort of the point."

"Morri doesn't like them either," said Day, split the ball in two, and lofted both of them back at Anders.

"What? When did she say that?" Anders awkwardly juggled the fire, nearly dropped one, and managed to get them back across the three foot gap without singing his robes.

"She doesn't just talk to you," said Day.

"Huh," Anders said, to fill time while he thought of a better comeback.

"She called them soulless," said Day. His brow creased. "She looked - she looked like she might have been crying."

"When did you have this conversation?" asked Anders.

"At lunch," said Day. "While you were trying to talk up Rochelle."

"I wasn't talking her up."

"You were. And she said no, you looked like you'd bit a lemon."

The fireballs came back at Anders. He caught them, clapped his hands together, and made them disappear. "Morri never cries."

Day gave him a look. "She cries every night."

"What?"

"You're an idiot," said Day, and re-conjured the fire. "Pay attention, we need to master this for the next trials."


	7. Chapter 7

The metal gauntlet pinched at Anders's armpit. He was tall for his age but the Templars were always taller and they always, always used it to keep him off balance, skittering along beside his faceless, clanking captor. When they stopped, finally, the grip tightened to the point of actual pain. Anders gritted his teeth and waited while the Templar knocked - banged - on Enchanter Thekla's door.

"Yes?" Thekla did a good job of not showing nerves, although he couldn't quite hide the flicker of his eyes to Anders and then away again.

"This apprentice claims you gave him an evening pass," said the Templar. "Is this your signature?" He gave Thekla the pass.

"Yes," said Thekla. "He needs extra tutoring."

"In the future, Enchanter, please inform the duty captain that you have authorized an apprentice to leave quarters after the evening bell," said the Templar and pushed Anders firmly at Thekla. Boring, rules-obsessed, heavy hands ... it was always hard to tell them apart with the helm on, but Anders rather thought it was Ser Giles. "Good evening to you." No, Ser Thorne. Giles would never have wasted a pleasantry on a mage.

Thekla said nothing, only ushered Anders into his room and shut the door.

"I gave him the pass, first thing," said Anders. "He just didn't believe me." He stuck his opposite hand into his armpit and healed the incipient bruising.

"I'm sure that you said, 'excuse me, Ser, Enchanter Thekla told me to come to his office,'" said Thekla. "I'm sure that you didn't sass him in any way, shape or form."

"I had a pass," said Anders. "That's all he needed to know."

Thekla sighed. "Tea?" he asked.

"Alright," said Anders.

"Have a seat." Thekla tilted his chin at the desk in the corner. His room was fairly typical for a junior enchanter, reasonably spacious, divided by a screen. The front was dominated by his desk and two bookshelves, overflowing with stacked papers and boxes and amulets and books. A soft woolen rug covered the floor. The screen that hid the back of the room from view was painted wood, depicting a scene of halla, feeding in a forest glen. The corner of his bed was visible from where Anders sat, the coverlet and sheet dragging on the ground.

Thekla put a mug in front of him, steaming and minty. "Drink up."

Anders took an obedient sip.

"Nehael was the Keeper of a clan of Dalish that camped too long outside a small town near Amaranthine," said Thekla. "This was fairly early in the Occupation, and the Orlesian lord there was eager to try and win the loyalty of the people in the Arling. When the townsfolk complained, he came in with fire and sword to drive the wild elves away.

"It didn't work very well. The clan had a young, powerful, angry Keeper, and several other mages. They slaughtered the lord's soldiers, drove him mad with blood magic, and let him go to wander, naked, back into town.

"This did not sit well with either the Orlesian occupiers or the Chantry. Half a hundred Templars, with chevaliers at their backs, descended on the town. They put the Dalish camp to the torch, killed most of the elves, and brought back the Keeper in chains."

"Nahael," said Anders.

"Nahael. He spent three weeks in the cells, waiting for the Grand Cleric to arrive and hold his trial. It was meant to be a lesson for the Dalish. The day before she arrived, he submitted to a demon, unleashed shades in the lower level of the tower, and killed some fifteen Templars and three mages."

Anders's mouth dropped open.

"They got him under control again, barely. The Knight-Commander wanted him slain immediately, but the Grand Cleric arrived in time to transmute the sentence to Tranquility. They branded him, put him in chains, and toured him throughout Ferelden. There was a song about him. Knife ears, knife heart, a knife in his hand," Thekla sang. He had a strong tenor voice.

"When King Maric threw out the Orlesians, Nahael was quietly retired to the Fomori and everyone did their best to forget about him."

"He was a maleficar," said Anders.

"Yes."

"Who was let live."

"Yes," said Thekla. "And if you go talking about him, or, Maker forfend, asking the Knight Commander if you or one of your little friends can take up classes with him, it's likely that he'll be dragged out and beheaded and you'll be made Tranquil." He leaned forward. "I am not kidding, Anders. They'll Trank you. And likely Daylen and Morrigan, too."

Anders blinked. Enchanters never said 'Trank.' "But," he said. "Morri needs to learn Elvhen."

"Why?" asked Thekla.

"She just does." Anders stared at his tea.

Thekla sat back, dragged his nails through his scruff of beard and then sighed. "Andraste save me from young people in love. I will try to ... do something. If you promise me that you won't pursue this again." Anders opened his mouth and Thekla held up a hand to silence him. "Don't promise me as your teacher, or as an enchanter, or as an adult, because if I were properly being any of those for you right now, I wouldn't be doing this. Promise me as a friend."

Anders put down his tea. "I promise," he said.

"Ok, so we wait then?" Day glanced between Anders and Morri. The Harrowing Chamber was cold. Outside, an autumn storm lashed the thick glass of the windows with rain.

"Yeah," said Anders. "Thekla said that we had to drop it while he did his thing."

"His thing," said Morri, flatly.

"Yeah," said Anders. "I'll tell him you said 'thank you', shall I?"

She glowered at him from under the tangle of her hair. Today there was another quill, three brass buttons on a string, and what looked like a minor amulet of enhancement. "I don't know why you told him - why you told an adult - in the first place."

"Thekla's alright," said Anders. "He's always good for a pass or a recommendation or, you know, looking the other way when you get caught in a closet."

"I don't trust him," she said.

"He doesn't know why you want to learn Elvhen," said Anders. "I'm not that thick."

"We should get back," said Day. "We've got herbalism this afternoon and Enchanter Sorrel gets cranky when you're late."

Morri ignored Anders's little nonverbal hints and marched past each convenient niche in the staircase with straight back and arms clasping her books in front of her like a shield. He sighed. He was starting to believe that she wasn't going to kiss him ever again. Maybe a present? Something shiny she could stick in her hair?

They heard the crowd before they saw it, a mass of robed bodies crowding around the door of the senior apprentice quarters. Someone at the front was sobbing. A Templar stood in the doorway, sword drawn and resting point down on the floor in front of his feet.

"You can't go in," he said. "The Knight Commanders is on his way. Clear a path."

"Please." Anders recognized Rochelle's voice and began to try to push through the crowd.

"Stay where you are," said Templar, his voice tight with nervous irritation.

"Roach," said Anders, emerging out beside her, reverting to the old nickname she hated. "What's wrong?"

"Elise," she said. "She wasn't at - she didn't meet me for, for tutoring. I came to find her and there was a crowd ..." Her eyes were huge and glassy with tears. Lysha was beside her, arm around her shoulders.

Anders looked at the Templar and then at his naked sword, and his unease bloomed into sick certainty. Day and Morri came up behind him.

"Clear a path." Greagoir, flanked by six other Templars, waded through the crowd, mages and apprentices parting before him. He nodded at the Templar, who stood aside. Greagoir opened the door.

Rochelle made a sound somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

Elise's body turned very slowly, the tips of her slippers less than a handspan above the floor.

"Clear this hall," said Greagoir. The Templars began pushing people away. "Back to your classes!" Greagoir said. "Anyone still in the hall after the count of ten will spend the night in the cells."

Morri's slender, chilled fingers crept into Anders's as they went back down the hall, buffeted by the other apprentices. No one spoke, until they were in the herbalism hall, surrounded by the smell of embrium and elfroot and concentrator agents. Sorrel wasn't there.

"Why?" asked Morri. Her voice was barely audible.

"I heard she was due to be Harrowed," said Day.

"I heard they were going to Trank her," said someone else.

"Why would they do that? She was strong in Elemental, she never made any trouble."

"How'd she do it? I'm always looking for a moment alone in dorm."

Someone laughed once, a short bark more hysteric than amused.

"There's always one," said someone and then Enchanter Sorrel came in, pale faced and stern, and told them to fetch the elfroot they'd put to soaking yesterday.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a service for Elise two days later, most of the population of the Tower jammed into the Chantry. Anders, Day and Morri ended up standing by the wall, sweating as the candles and the body heat slowly raised the temperature. Anders was sorely tempted to summon some ice but casting in the Chantry, at a funeral, would not be looked on kindly.  
 _  
I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade  
For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light  
And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.  
_  
The Chanter had a beautiful voice, low and resonant. Anders always liked hearing the Chant, except when they pulled out Transfigurations.

Afterward they all went to the dining hall, while the First Enchanter and the Knight Commanders and four Templars bore Elise's body outside to be burned. Everyone was quiet, except the youngest apprentices, who complained about waiting for their lunch. When Irving and Greagoir finally came in, the fabric of both robes and Templar skirts were stained with ash. Anders stared at it, imagining the gust of wind that had blown through the pyre, and was consumed by a sudden desperate longing to be outside, so strong that he had to grip his hands together beneath the table.

 _She's free_ , was all he could think. _At least she's free._

"Some announcements," said Irving, as the meal drew to a close. "New additions to our brothers and sisters in the Templar ranks. Ser Crystan, Ser Agnes and Ser Lyonne join us from Ostwick. Make them welcome."

A murmur ran around the room. Anders watched as the three stood up. Crystan was young and gormless looking, frizzy black hair and a sad moustache. Agnes had a smooth, kind, remorselessly pious smile. He instinctively wanted to kick her in the shin. Lyonne was a tall man, even for a Templar, with pale eyes and an easy grin.

"Transfers?" asked Morri. "Why do they transfer Templars?"

"Experience," said Day. "Training. Sometimes they're being groomed as hunters."

"Sometimes it's because they got into trouble," said Anders.

"Shh," said Finn.

"Trouble?" Morri raised her eyebrows.

"Kissing Chantry sisters, starting fights, blackening the Templar name, you know." Day waved his fork knowingly.

"Naughty naughty," said Anders archly.

Irving dismissed them to afternoon class. Wynne stood and made her way down across the floor with singleminded purpose.

"Oh, Andraste's knickerweasels," muttered Anders. "I forgot about the extra tutoring."

"Come along, Anders," said Wynne. Her eyes swept the rest of the table. "How interesting your hair is, Morrigan."

Morri glowered at her.

For all his moaning, Anders actually enjoyed his private lessons with Wynne. It was clear that she loved the art of spirit healing, and Anders's strong aptitude delighted her.

They sat back simultaneously, letting go the their grip on the Fade, feeling the spirits on the other side slip away. "I've always called to spirits of Faith," said Wynne. "Yours, I think, feel more like Mercy. Are you practicing your guards?"

"Every night."

"Good. You'll be ready to start drawing spirit power across the Fade soon, and that always attracts attention."

He shivered a bit. He had demon dreams on occasion, just formless whispering at the edges of mind.

"You'll be fine," said Wynne. "Whatever your other failings, you have a strong will."

"Right." He summoned up a smile for her.

"Anders," she said, as he put his hand to the latch to go. He turned to see her brow creased, her hands straightening a stack of papers. "The new Templars. Stay clear of them. Lyonne in particular. They've been assigned to the upper floors, you shouldn't run into him, but just," she pressed her lips together for a moment in irritation. Or worry. "Be wary."

"Why?" he asked.

"He isn't safe," she said.

A prickle ran across Anders's scalp. He stood, hand on the latch, watching Wynne's face.

"Run along," she said. "Practice your guards."

 _He isn't safe._ There were so many things that could mean. No Templar was safe, not really. "Right," he said, and left, and looked over his shoulder for a particularly tall Templar all the way to Entropy class.

"Sweeney said the same thing," said Day, that night in the dorms. He and Anders huddled together beneath the sheets, a dim orb trapped between their chests. Their breath made it stuffy and close but neither wanted to cast back the covers. An illusion of safety was better than nothing.

"About Lyonne?"

"About all of them." Day blinked. "Called them a pack of wolves."

"Are they warning everyone?" said Anders.

"Lysha got it from Gally who got it from Moira who was pulled aside by Ser Kyle after dinner. He's sweet on her," Day smirked but it had no life in it.

"Did you tell Morri?"

"We can at breakfast."

"Yeah."

They lay for a while, breathing the stale air.

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Day," said Anders. "If they catch us they'll move you."

"I can get up early," said Day. "You know I can, I'm always up way before anyone."

"Alright," said Anders, just as glad to turn over and let Day wrap his arms around his waist. "Don't poke me with your morning stand-up," he said over his shoulder.

"Shut up," said Day. "Don't poke me with yours."

They snorted with quiet laughter until they were shushed by the next bunk over. Day fell asleep first, his hands twitching until Anders gathered them against his chest.

"'Not safe,'" Morri repeated. "What does that mean?"

They were tucked into a corner of the Chantry before morning class. The Chanter, a yawning middle aged sister, was barely making it through Trials without stumbling.

"Ok, well, you know about sex?" Anders said.

"A man becomes aroused and puts his erect penis into a woman's vagina," said Morri. "My mother explained when I was nine. She gave me a knife, in case anyone tried to do it with me."

"Ri-ight," said Anders. "Good. Concise."

"A bit bare bones," said Day and then giggled, nervously. "Sorry, sorry."

"Ok, well, they don't let us have knives, here," said Anders.

Morri's face changed. "What about magic?"

"Bad idea," said Anders. "Bad, bad idea. Never use magic on a Templar, not directly."

"Then how ... what ... " Her breathing sped a little.

"Just stay away from him," said Day. "He's not even on this floor. Easy."

Morri looked stricken. "The Harrowing Chamber?"

"Shit," said Anders. "Shit."

"We'll have to stop going," said Day.

"It's the only place," said Morri. "With windows, and sun, and ..."

"Ok, ok," said Anders. "We'll, I'll, I'll find out the Templar duty roster. We'll get Moira to ask Ser Kyle, or something. I'll figure it out." He took Morri's hand. "I'll figure something out."

Her fingers lay limply in his. "Have you heard from Thekla?" she asked.

"Not yet. That doesn't mean anything. I'll ask him today, after Force." He squeezed and after a moment she squeezed back.

"Very well," she said.

"Stop looking like your best friend died," said Anders. "'cause I'm right here, in front of you."

She flashed her amber eyes at him. "Who says you're my best friend?"

"Hah!" said Day.

"I am staggered," said Anders. "Simply staggered by this betrayal. Who is this rival, this lout, this blaggard ..."

"A stool with two legs is naught but trash," said Morri. "Make a tripod and it stands firm."

"That's ... Morri. I think you said something nice," said Day. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Treasure the moment," she said, punching him in the arm. "It won't happen twice, if this is the reception such words receive."

The chime for first class sounded and they hurried out. They split in the hall, Morri going left to Uldred's class and Anders and Day heading right toward Elemental. Anders watched her straight, slim back until she disappeared around the corner.


	9. Chapter 9

Anders arrived early to Force, hoping to corner Thekla about Nahael. The hall outside the room was empty and the door slightly ajar. He slowed, hearing Wynne's measured tones. Thekla answered her, low and slightly ragged with intensity. Anders crept up to the door, blessing his soft flimsy slippers.

"... are all gossiping about it. The word had spread."

"What word? That they need to live in fear? More fear than usual? What is he doing here? Couldn't Irving have protested?"

"He did." Wynne was calm, resigned. "The assignment to the adult dorms was the result."

"They were going to put him among the children?" A clatter, the sound of something rattling across the floor. "How does this keep happening?"

"The charges were never confirmed ..."

"They were never officially confirmed," said Thekla. "Because the lot of them stood together and then boy flung himself off the tower. They have windows in Ostwick, apparently."

"We should not even know this," said Wynne. "We can't go to Greagoir with information that we are not supposed to have."

"Maker's cock." Thekla let out a breath. "So what do we do?"

"What we can."

"Precious little."

"The Maker will lend us strength."

"I would rather he gave us justice."

"Karl ..."

"Yes, yes, I know. Compliance, trust between mage and Templar."

There was a silence. Anders barely breathed, a cold, sick feeling in his stomach.

"It's only a matter of time. You know that." Karl sounded dead, defeated.

"Greagoir is not Harvald. He doesn't tolerate -"

"So we wait to see which one of the children in our care becomes the sacrifice? I am sick to death, Wynne, of _waiting_ -"

The class chime sounded, mellow and resonant. Anders started and then retreated down the hall out of earshot. When Wynne emerged, he swung into a casual stride.

"Anders," she said with a smile. "I will see you later."

"Senior Enchanter," he said.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, pausing.

"No." He produced his sideways smirk. "Still charming, handsome, and talented. What could be wrong?"

She gave him a quelling look, nearly concealing the concern beneath it. "Try not to be tardy today," she said and moved on.

Thekla was gathering a scattering of quills and chalk off the floor. When Anders cleared his throat, he glanced up and smiled. It was almost convincing. "Early for class? Has the tower turned upside down?"

"I wanted to ask about -"

"Yes, yes," said Thekla hastily. "I will speak with you after class, Anders." Other students began to file in. "Take your seat."

Anders was even more erratic than usual during class, his concentration shot. He flattened Morrigan's topknot, Finn's shoe, and his own left smallfinger.

"Is it possible that study is making your grasp of this school worse?" Morri asked, her own bit of crumpled paper hanging smugly in midair before she slammed it to the desktop.

He stared morosely at his blackening fingernail. He couldn't tell her. That the Enchanters were as helpless as apprentices? He felt stupid for having believed any different. Probably she would scoff at him. There wasn't anywhere to go, nowhere that was safe, not Thekla's rooms, not Wynne's workshop, not the Harrowing Chambers. Of course there wasn't. Swords and helms and he was a mage and that wasn't ever going to change.

"Anders?" Morri touched his arm, lightly.

"Why won't you kiss me again?" he asked. "Didn't you like it?" He ducked his head a little, looked up at her on an angle.

Her lips tightened, in the way that meant she was trying not to smile. "Concentrate."

He sighed, extravagantly, seized hold of the forces of gravity, and knocked over Finn's inkpot.

"Anders," said Thekla from the front of the class, as Finn sputtered and tried to save his notes and Morri stifled her laughter with both hands. "Morrigan. Will the two of your please see me after class. It seems that you need some assistance with focus."

"He's a genius," said Anders. "He's brilliant. He's a brilliant genius."

"It's clever," Morri said, clutching the sheaf of papers.

"What, what?" Day crowded onto the bench next to Anders.

"Oh, we got in trouble in Force and now we have extra homework," said Anders.

"That's brilliant, is it?" Lysha dropped into her seat, Rochelle a quiet shadow beside her.

"Yes, because Morri will be doing it all," said Anders airily.

"You're the worst friend," said Lysha. "Don't let him do that, Morrigan."

"Perhaps I am the best friend," said Morri, a little hesitantly.

Lysha grinned at her. "I've been meaning to tell you, I like your hair," she said.

"Announcements!" Irving stood at the head table. "The Wintersend celebrations are coming up, please remember to sign up for choir if you wish to participate in the communal Chant. Before anyone asks, no, participation does not excuse you from any of your regular classes." A discontented murmur ran along the apprentice tables. "Please also note that curfews exist for a reason. Any apprentice caught in the hallways without a pass will be disciplined."

"What's genius?" Day whispered.

"Nahael's writing down a Dalish dictionary," Anders whispered back. "Thekla has us making copies. So we make our OWN copy, we never have to see Nahael, no one gets Tranked."

"That's brilliant," said Day.

"I know, right? You can help," said Anders generously.

"This is going to take forever," said Day, the next morning in the library. "I mean, look at his handwriting. It's like a drunken chicken stepped in ink and then danced the Remigold."

"It's not so bad," said Anders.

"You are only saying that because yours is almost as terrible," said Morri.

"I write quite legibly," said Anders.

"Sometimes you can't read your own notes," said Day. "You're constantly borrowing mine."

"That's just laziness," said Anders, grinning.

"There isn't much here," said Morri, flipping through the sheets.

"Half of it is still on Knight Captain Oron's desk," said Anders. "He has to vet it for malificarum-related stuff I suppose."

"It's a dictionary," said Day.

Anders shrugged.

"Templars," said Morri, a little too loudly.

Anders shushed her, too late. The Tinman by the door had already turned her head and was looking at them. Anders offered her a friendly smile. Not the right move. She pushed away from the wall and came clanking over.

"Did you call for a Templar?" she asked. Anders couldn't place her voice. "Hmm? Did you need a Templar, apprentices?"

"No, ser," said Day. "We were just talking."

"About Templars?"

"About all our favorite things," said Anders. Day kicked him sharply under the table.

The Templar took off her helm, revealing black hair and a kind, forgiving smile. "So you like Templars, apprentice? That's nice. Back in Ostwick, most of the apprentices were a bit afraid of us. Can you imagine?" She leaned in a bit, conspiratorially. "What's your name, apprentice?"

"Anders," he said.

She raised her eyebrows. "That's not a name, that's a nationality."

"It's what they call me," he said.

She smiled again. "A nickname. That's cute." She hefted her helm and settled it back on her head. "Don't let me interrupt your studying." Her voice echoed hollowly. "Anders."

They watched her pace slowly back to her post.

"Creepy," said Day.

"I mislike her smile," said Morri.

Anders said nothing at all.


	10. Chapter 10

Every week Thekla gave them another sheaf of paper, another list of Elvhen words and their Common translations in Nahael's shaky, crabbed hand. It was thorough work, of course. In the second bundle was a twenty-page dissertation on basic Elvhen grammar, dry as old autumn leaves, that Day fell on like a ravenous wolf. 

Anders was pretty hopeless at most of it. Morri double-checked his work until they were both frustrated and snippy. The third time she made that particular sniff-sigh into his ear as she leaned over his shoulder he threw down his quill and left them to it.

He poked morosely through the herbology section, wandered up the stairs to the second floor of the library, and then perked up his ears at the sound of muffled rustling. An indrawn breath, a low laugh and then the unmistakeable sounds of kissing.

Anders crept to the end of the row, crouched down, and peered over. 

Thekla, kissing. Another mage. Eyes shut, hands buried in hair. The other man lifted a thigh, pressed it between Thekla's legs, and Thekla made a tiny noise deep in his throat that made Anders feel abruptly sweaty.

"Karl," said the other mage. "Suck me, come on. Do it quick."

Thekla laughed again, wicked and amused. "I've got class," he said reproachfully. "You'll just have to wait."

"Andraste's ass, we've got time. You know you can, I'm hard as stone over here." He canted his hips against Thekla.

"You plead so sweetly," said Thekla. "How can I say no?" He opened his eyes and Anders ducked away before he could be seen, heart hammering in his ears.

Maker. The way they'd kissed, all open mouth and, and, the leg thing. Anders shifted uncomfortably, wondering if there was somewhere he could sneak off to for a quick wank.

"Ah!" said Thekla's partner, too loudly.

Anders got to his feet and began to creep away. A faint clink of steel sent him scurrying back again, craning his neck to see through the gaps in the bookshelves. A Templar, walking as quietly as possible in mail, was making her way along the stacks. The idiot Thekla was blowing gasped, loudly, and her head turned.

 _Shit_. Well, so much for the unspoken Circle rules of pretend privacy. Anders stuck his head around the corner again. 

Thekla's back was to him, and the idiot's eyes were shut.

"Hsst," said Anders, strangling between the need to be heard by them and to NOT be heard by the Tinman.

The idiot opened his eyes, and glared at Anders. "Go away," he whispered.

 _Templar_ Anders mouthed exaggeratedly.

"What?" Still too loud, Maker this man was a berk.

Thekla, catching on to his friend's sudden inattention, drew back and glanced over his shoulder.

Anders waved cheerily.

Thekla shot to his feet, cheeks red under his brown beard. "Anders," he said, low but fierce.

"Tinman," Anders whispered.

Understanding dawned at last in the idiot's eyes and he began to lace up his robes frantically.

"I'll stall her," said Anders, turning.

"No!" Thekla's hand on Anders's shoulder was tight to the point of pain. "No. Circle around the balcony and take the other stairs down. Don't worry about us."

Anders nodded and Thekla spun him about and shoved him into a hasty scuttle. He looked back once, to see Thekla mouth _Thank you,_ through a quirked smile.

A sudden rattle of armor. "Hah! What are you up to!" 

"Ser?" Thekla's voice, polite and confused. "I was merely asking my colleague here about Gullieume's second treatise ..."

Anders was grinning madly when he got back to the table. 

"Where did you go?" asked Day.

"Nowhere," said Anders, looking at Day's lips. Maybe Day would let him try kissing with an open mouth.

The Templar came jingling down the steps, her every movement transmitting irritation and thwarted purpose.

Anders grinned into Nahael's scribbly lists of words beginning with "A."


	11. Chapter 11

Work on the Elvhen dictionary was incredibly slow and frustrating. Nahael would go days without producing anything, and then send sheets filled with corrections of his earlier work. Some of the word lists were shockingly short, the grammar was incomplete, and one day halfway through the 'D's,' Morrigan arrived in the library for their transcribing session with her full mouth compressed so tight she resembled Wynne.

"Oh, Maker, what," said Daylen. "What is it now?"

"My mother," she said, slamming her pile of books and paper down the on the table, "knows more Elvhen than Nahael does."

"What?" Anders leaned in.

"These," she shook a list of words in his direction, "are incomplete. I found three words beginning with the letter 'A' that Nahael did not translate."

"How does your mother -" Day began.

"Is there a way to get in and see him again?" Morri asked Anders.

"After all this?" Anders gestured at the transcription laid all over the table. "I don't think so. We brought him to their attention," he said, seeing the mulish look on Morri's face. "Theckla was very specific about not doing that again."

"How am I -"

"You won't get much out of him if he's dead -"

"Shut up the pair of you!" Daylen hissed.

They fell silent as the tramp of metal-shod feet went past on the other side of a bookshelf.

"Do the best you can," said Day, after a moment. "Can you extrapolate? From context?"

"It's taking too long," said Morri. Now that she was calmer, Anders noticed the deep hollows under her eyes, the tired slump of her shoulders. "At this rate we'll still be squinting at these senile scribblings ten years from now."

"It's the best we can do for now," said Day. 

"It is not good enough." Morri sat, finally, and glared down at her pile of papers.

“What have you worked out so far?” asked Day encouragingly.

Morri transferred the glare to him, then shut her eyes and visibly controlled herself. “Nothing. Nothing of any use. My mother apparently spent several summers torturing spiders of various sizes.”

“Eugh,” said Anders.

Sudden footsteps, this time the hushed soft-slipper step of mages, quieted them again. A sob was muffled, someone spoke in a low voice. Morri’s head came up just as Senior Enchanter Uldred rounded the end of the stacks, his face grim, towing a young apprentice by the upper arm. 

“Uh oh,” said Anders. “Looks like someone’s getting extra Entropy.”

“She’s not in Entropy,” said Morri. 

The girl looked back as Uldred escorted her through the library door, revealing a bruise high on her left cheek. Her eyes were wide and shocky, her single braid half undone.

“That’s Melia,” said Daylen. “She came in a couple years ago. Wonder what she did? Uldred looks really angry.”

Anders looked back along the stacks, to where the lights grew dimmer and the spaces between the wall and the shelves were pocked with alcoves and niches. “He caught her with someone, maybe?” he hazarded.

“So where’s the someone?” asked Day, and then snickered. “Ran off and left her to take the fall, not very nice.”

Anders met Morri’s eyes. “Ran off and left her with a bruise,” he said.

“Not very nice,” said Morri.

Day glanced from one to the other, his brow creasing. 

“We have work to do,” said Morri briskly, and unstoppered her ink. Her mouth set itself into a straight line and she bent her crow’s nest head over her papers. 

Morri was late to dinner that evening, hurried in just ahead of the Senior Enchanters and wedged herself in between Anders and Day. She looked grim and angry and scared but only shook her head when Anders raised his eyebrows at her.

“HC, tomorrow noon,” she whispered to him as they filed out of the dining hall back to the dorms.

“Day,” Anders whispered, poking the bulge in the top bunk that was Day’s bottom with his foot.

“No,” said Day. “I need to sleep, leave me alone.”

“Day, come down.”

“No.”

Anders poked him again, waited, and then climbed out of bed and up the ladder to Day’s bunk. “Day,” he said to the tuft of dark hair that stuck out of the blankets.

Day’s face emerged, irritated and sleepy. “What.”

Anders was immediately fixated on his mouth. “Uhm.”

“Go away,” Day hissed. “No, stop, don’t climb in, the ropes are too old, Anders.” Day shoved at him. “I’ll come down, Maker.”

“Morri wants us to meet in the Harrowing Chamber tomorrow noon,” said Anders, once they were huddled together in his bunk. Day was warm and slightly squirmy.

“You couldn’t have just told me this while we were getting ready for bed?” Day huffed huffily. “Wait, the Harrowing Chamber? But – we aren’t supposed to go up –“

Anders shrugged. “It’s Morri, I’m sure she has it all worked out.”

“I don’t want to,” said Day. “I don’t – we should stay on the apprentice floors.”

“Well, you don’t have to go,” said Anders casually. “If you’re scared.”

Day gave him a look. “Of course I’m scared,” he said. “It’s stupid to go looking for trouble.”

“Thanks,” said Anders. “Good to know your opinion of me.”

“I didn’t mean – don’t take it that way,” said Day. “Anders. Anders.”

“Whatever,” said Anders.

“I’m sorry,” said Day, and kissed him.

Anders let him, sulkily, but didn’t kiss back until Day put his hand tentatively on Anders’ neck and tipped his head a little. Theckla had done that, had tilted his head.

Day pulled away. “Are you – mmf?”

Day’s mouth was half open and Anders licked once, quickly, past his upper lip and against his teeth. Day made a noise, surprised but not protesting, and when Anders did it again, Day opened his mouth the rest of the way.

It was wet, and a bit sloppy at first, but then Day tentatively touched Anders’ tongue with his, and Anders surprised them both with the noise he made, and then someone from down the row was shushing them, irritated.

They broke apart, Anders very very aware of his body and Day’s body and wow the open mouth thing was seriously amazing and he was going to write that idiot Theckla had been kissing in the stacks a thank-you note. Which reminded him, and he was about to roll over against Day and try the thing with his thigh, but Day was already wriggling away. 

“Hey,” he said.

Day gave him a slightly wild-eyed look. “Don’t wanna get caught,” he whispered, and scrambled up into his bunk. 

Anders stared upward at the indent of Day’s body in the rope frame above him and spent a while resisting the urge to kick it. In the end, he rolled onto his side and gave himself a quick handy, followed by the carefully applied little lick of fire magic that every teenaged boy in the Tower knew. Some nights, the reek of mildly scorched woollen blankets was overpowering. An unfortunate few added the smell of burnt hair, but Anders, while unimpressive with larger applications of elemental magic, had mastered this one perfectly.

“Where’s Day?” Morri demanded, when Anders slipped into the Harrowing Chamber, his heart beating just a little too fast.

“He couldn’t come,” said Anders. 

“He’s afraid,” said Morri, sitting down in the middle of the available sunlight.

“Well,” said Anders vaguely, waving a hand.

“Or you did something to make him angry,” Morri went on.

“I didn’t!”

“Never mind, you can tell him later.”

“Tell him what?” Anders sat down opposite her.

She drew herself up straight, hands on her thighs. “I’m going to get rid of those templars,” she said. “And you can’t help and you can’t tell anyone, and I’m not going to tell you how I’m going to do it.”

“How are you going to –“

“I just told you I wasn’t going to tell you,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And you’re not to interfere if you see me doing things.”

“Doing -?”

“And … and we can’t be friends for a while,” she finished, looking pained. “I’m sorry.”

Anders stared at her. “Why?” he asked, finally.

“Because,” she said. “The wolf picks off the weak. The wounded. The prey that is alone.” 

His gut was a twist of fear. “Morri, I don’t understand.”

“You will,” she said. She smiled at him, a quick slash of teeth. “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.”

He remembered the templars who’d brought her in, their charred skirts, their missing brother. “And they _caught_ you,” he said.

“Not this time,” she said. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, her plush lips warm and moist. When she pulled away, her eyes caught the sunlight, hawk yellow. “You’ll see.”


	12. Chapter 12

In the end, Anders had less time to worry about what Morrigan was up to than he had anticipated – Wynne deemed him advanced enough in his studies to start assisting her in the infirmary. It was interesting, he had to admit, although spending three afternoons a week patching up sparring injuries for the Templars wasn’t his idea of a good time. The way they watched him as he cast was offputting, all squinched up mouths and suspicious eyebrows. It was the “spirit” part of spirit healer, he knew. Wynne spent much of her time lecturing him on how spirit healers had to be extra careful and follow the rules even more than other mages. Being so close to the fade, to spirits, made the Templars twitchier than usual.

“So I’m trading in regular prisoner-hood for extra special prisoner-hood,” he complained to Day in the library after Force class. “I didn’t think there was another level of squinty-eyed paranoia but I was wrong.” He slumped into his chair and kicked the leg of the table moodily.

“Uh-hmm,” said Day.

“I mean, and Wynne talks about it as if it were some special treat. _Responsibility_ ,” Anders intoned.

“Right,” said Day.

“As if the prospect of traveling between Circles thirty years down the road to discuss dusty tomes with other boring old bags is some kind of enticement in the here and now."

Day made a noise that could have been agreement.

“What are you doing that’s so important you can’t listen for one minute –“ Anders snatched the papers out from under Day’s pen.

“Hey!”

“Really?” Anders waved the paper at Day. “The translations, still?”

Day grabbed the papers back. “It’s still technically our punishment. Besides. Just because you’re sulking over Morri –“

“Am not,” said Anders, sulkily.

Across the library, Morri raised her head. She was back to braids, Anders noticed. It irritated him. She caught his glance and then ducked her head again. 

“She’s a terrible pretender,” he muttered. 

She wasn’t. She had committed to her new personality with dedication and a skill at dissembling that had Anders reluctantly impressed. People were talking about how much Elise's death had affected her, how they hadn’t even known she and Elise had been friends. How sad it was. And the Templars from Ostwick circled her like wolves around a lost sheep. Right now, the tall one was watching her from the gallery, leaning hipshot against the shelves. He had his helm off, his dark curly hair like a nimbus around his lean, intent face.

“It’s stupid,” he said to Day. “She’s being stupid.”

“We could tell someone,” said Day, his head ducked to his papers studiously.

“Who?” Anders asked. 

“Enchanter Thekla?” 

“No.” Anders pressed too hard on his quill and the tip splintered, splattering ink across his examination of the interaction of fire and force magic.

“He could help us,” Day began.

“He can’t.” Anders blotted furiously.

“He would, he got us this,” Day shook the translations at Anders. “Someone needs to –“

“He can’t,” Anders said. “He can’t, alright? No one can.”

Day sat, mouth open, eyes wide, gaping like an idiot. 

“The enchanters are useless,” Anders hissed. “Irving is useless, and Gregoire isn’t going to believe anything we say. All we can do is get her in trouble. More trouble. “ He glared across the table at Day. “Do you understand? There is no help.” He slammed his books closed and jerked them off the table, standing.

“Are you well, Anders?” Prentiss, one of the better Templar types, pushed away from the wall by the door.

“Fine.” Anders plastered a smile onto his face. “I’m expected in the infirmary.”

Day bent his head again. The tips of his ears were red as fire, a sure sign that he was fighting tears, but it wasn’t Anders’ fault if the truth was too much for him.

He stomped into the infirmary to find a massive pile of elfroot waiting for him on the prep table which did nothing to improve his mood. Sodden fronds dripped mud across the pine boards and onto the floor. He stowed his notes in his cubby and rolled the sleeve of his robes up grimly. 

"Anders," Wynne greeted him. She was bent over one of the younger apprentices, looking at a scraped knee. The boy was perhaps nine, sad eyed and scrawny. Kierin? Coren? Something like that. "How is Morrigan?" Wynne didn't look up from gently applying poultice to the scrape but Anders could feel her attention like a weight.

"How should I know?" He dumped a double fistful of elfroot into a bowl and sloshed water on top. "Can't they at least give these a rinse before they bring them in?" he muttered.

"There you are, lad," said Wynne, and lifted Coren down off the table. "Don't run so fast, now." She tousled his dark hair, sent him off, and turned her attention to Anders. "Morrigan is your friend, is she not?" She came over to claim some of the water to wash her hands. 

"We fell out," Anders said, sluicing elfroot.

"Pity." Wynne lifted the bunch of greens out of his hands and laid them on a clean bit of table. "It seems like she needs friends right now."

Anders sloshed more elfroot into the bowl and didn't answer.

"She's spending a lot of time alone," said Wynne. "It's not good."

"Why?" he asked. "Why is that not good?" _Compliance, trust between mage and Templar._ He met her eyes, furious. "Why is that not good, Enchanter?"

Wynne looked at him, her hands still in the pile of leaves and roots. "Mages need support," she said mildly. "It is in our connections with one another that we root our humanity. So we don't forget our duty to one another. And to the world."

"Demons," said Anders. "You're worried about demons."

"I am worried about Morrigan," said Wynne. "In many ways. Our life here is not easy, Anders. It has its rewards, however, if one can find them. Elise's death was hard, on all of us. I'm worried that Morrigan might -"

"Don't worry about Morrigan," said Anders. "Morrigan has it all under control." He picked up a knife and began slicing elfroot viciously.

"Morrigan is very young," said Wynne.

"Well I'm young, too," said Anders. He swept the elfroot into a basket with a swish of the knife. "You're so concerned, why don't you be her friend? Why don't you tell her about rewards? Why don't you do something?" He was shouting, he realized. "Why don't you _do something?_ "

Wynne stared at him, her face a study in shock and remorse.

He dropped the knife on the table, turned, and walked out of the infirmary.

She did nothing to stop him.


	13. Chapter 13

The halls around the infirmary were quiet and empty, the kind of stillness that only happened during the middle of a class period. The real life of the Tower, the one that only the Harrowed had true access to, happened in the higher floors, where the Enchanters had their research laboratories and common areas. Down here it was all group meals and hall passes and poor heating. Anders was nearly angry enough to not feel the chill of the stone corridor.

He'd _told_ Morri that her plan, whatever it was, was stupid. Stubborn, mysterious, swamp witch idiot. She snubbed him at meals, practically ran away from him in the halls, hardly looked at him during Force classes, what did Wynne want him to do? The Enchanters were noticing she was acting strange. She wasn't going to be able to lure the Ostwick Templars alone and, and do whatever she was planning to do. He hoped she couldn't, because an apprentice was an apprentice, regardless of strange, scary, swampy pasts, and no match for -

"Hello, Anders."

He skidded to a stop, nearly running into a sunburst tabard, and looked up at the kind, understanding smile of Ser Agnes. His heart kicked in his chest.

"You're supposed to be in class, aren't you?"

"Gosh, am I?" he said breezily, edging back. "I was on my way there, actually, just forgot a book and um, a quill, but you know, I can do without, I'll just -"

She matched him, step for step, the smile never wavering. "Apprentices need to be careful," she said. "There's a reason why we watch over you, you know."

"Yeah?" Anders' back hit the wall and he slid sideways along it.

"Young mages," Agnes said, her smile dissolving into a serious, concerned frown, "are vulnerable. To influences."

"No demons here," said Anders. "Promise!"

"It's not just demons that we watch for, Anders. There are," she wet her lips, "opinions. Ideas. That mages get, sometimes. Wishes. They dream of things that only make them unhappy." She set the edge of her shield delicately against the wall beside Anders, blocking his path. "I want you to be happy here." Her face was close to his, now. She smiled again. Her eyes were brown, with long black lashes. He could smell her breath, onion and cheese with a hint of anise. He felt dizzy, unreal. She was looking at his mouth.

"Apprentice!"

Ser Agnes leaned away from him, casual and unhurried. Behind her was Enchanter Uldred, face pinched in disapproval and annoyance. The relief was like a fist unclenching in Anders' chest.

"Apprentice, you are tardy," Uldred said. "Excuse me, Ser." Agnes fell back a step as he reached out and took Anders by the shoulder.

"Good day, then, Anders," said Agnes, slinging her shield onto her back again. "Think on what I've said." She nodded to Uldred. "Enchanter."

"Ser," Uldred said in his accustomed bone-dry tones.

She watched them go, arms crossed, the smile lingering.

"Extra copying for you, I think," said Uldred, ushering him away down the hall. Anders went with him, glad of the support, no matter how Uldred's fingers pinched. His knees felt distinctly unreliable.

"Enchanter," he tried, but Uldred only shook him briskly.

"None of your backtalk, now." His grip eased slightly as they rounded a corner. "Where should you be, apprentice?"

"The infirmary," said Anders.

"Then I suggest you get yourself there immediately." Uldred looked the same as ever, dark-eyed and looming and humorless.

"Yes, Enchanter." Anders paused, gnawing his lip. "Thank you."

"Don't do this again."

"Yes, Enchanter."

Uldred watched him until Anders scuttled out of his sight, arms folded.

There were very few places to hide in the Tower. None, really, if you took into account that all the current Enchanters had been apprentices at one point and knew every crack and knothole, although you could count on them leaving you undisturbed if it was obvious that you needed an hour or two alone. There were one or two, however, that took a certain degree of youthful agility to reach. Anders holed up in a nook in the masonry below the third floor stairs, sliding under the banister and bracing a foot against some fanciful stonework vinery to get a knee into the gap that some past Knight Commander had not deemed important enough to be fixed. Inside the small, irregular hollow there was a blanket, a few pillows to help pad the uneven floor, and a complete lack of Templars.

Anders huddled into the blanket for a while, letting the shakes work themselves out slowly. The dorms, those were safe, and the classrooms. She was on duty in the library, though, sometimes, and at meals she would be in the hall. And the Templar training rooms were on the same floor as the kitchens, so he couldn't go there anymore. The Harrowing Chamber might as well be on the moon. His breath was warm and humid against his knees.

"No," he whispered. "No." He scrubbed at his face and summoned a wisp. There was a plethora of notes scrawled on the underside of the steps.

_Tinhats can eat my shit._

_Aurora is the most beuatiful girl in al the werld._

_Perry please suck my cock._

_This is a terrible place to fuck._

_Bollocks._ (several)

 _Bolucks._ (one, with someone else's correction to the spelling)

He ran his fingers over his favorite, a sun drawn in yellow, three inches across and half-obscuring several other messages. Other pictures and scribblings had been defaced but not this one. It was a bit faded, the more so from his rubbing, he was sure, but still bright.

Morri's voice. _How do you live like this?_

"I don't know," he whispered.

There was a scrape, a scrabble, an undignified curse, and then Enchanter Theckla was climbing into the nook. He was huge and graceless in the tiny space and Anders crowded up against the back wall to give him room, too shocked to protest.

"Hmm," said Theckla. "Smaller than I recall."

"You - this isn't - I didn't -"

"I'd almost forgotten about this place." Thekla lifted a hand, absently, and ran two fingers along the edge of the sun.

"You aren't supposed to be here," Anders hissed, drawing his knees up against his chest.

Thekla, astonishingly, looked abashed. "Yes, I know," he said. "I don't belong here anymore." He dropped his hand and looked at Anders. They were crowded together, feet and knees jostling for space. Thekla's eyes in the wisp's light were blue as crystal grace blossoms. "I was worried about you. Wynne told me about - she told me you were upset."

It actually took a moment to remember the fight - if it could be called that - with Wynne. "Oh."

"What was that about?" Thekla linked his hands over his knees in a startlingly young fashion. "I thought you were enjoying spirit healing."

"I heard you," Anders said. "I heard you talking with her about the templars from Ostwick."

"Oh," said Thekla. He shut his eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry."

Anders snorted and picked at the edge of an old message. _Dear Andraste please send my dog Howler here to find me he will be sad if I am gone._

"I don't know what to tell you," said Thekla.

"Wynne already did," said Anders. "Stay away from them." He shuddered.

"We're not allowed -" Thekla broke off, let out an explosive breath. "Anders, if any of them speak to you, do anything, you come to me, alright? The rules can go hang, I won't let -"

Anders didn't mean to let the laugh out, it just happened.

"Anders." Thekla looked sick. "Anders, has something - has something already -"

"I was in the hall and she was just - there. But Enchanter Uldred came," Anders said, swallowing convulsive giggles. "He, he told her, she never - "

Thekla clenched his fists and the air around them got weird and heavy. "Did she touch you?" he asked, so carefully.

"No," said Anders, remembering her breath. Her eyes.

"You have to be more careful," said Thekla.

"Careful!" Anders laughed, high pitched and breathy. "It, it's like a game. Who can be the most _careful_ , and someone has to lose. No one can be careful all the time," he said, rocking back and forth. "No one! And I'm not careful, I'm never careful, I don't, I can't," he flailed out with his hands and Thekla caught them in a tight grip, hauled him in, and wrapped both arms around him. Anders gasped once against the front of Thekla's robes and then the tears burst out of him like a storm.

"I won't let it be you," Thekla swore, pressing Anders' head against his shoulder. "I won't. I promise."

***

Theckla took him to the infirmary after and made him a draught of something that made him feel distant and calm. The place was empty and peaceful, the astringent smell of embrium thick in the air.

"You need to sleep," said Theckla. "Let's get you to the dorms."

Panic cut through the warm blanket of the potion and Anders seized Theckla's sleeve. "No! People will see me, and, and ..."

"Alright, alright," Theckla soothed. "Why don't we, um," he surveyed the room. "The watch cot," he suggested.

"Yes. Alright." Anders had slept there many times, tending some delicate tonic or long-brewing potion. It was tucked in behind the prep tables and next to the hearth. The blanket was much-stained and smelled of herbs and sweat and safety. Theckla tucked him in, smoothing his hair away from his brow. It was getting long again. Wynne was going to go at him with the shears any day now.

"I'll stay," said Theckla. "I don't have anywhere to be for the next glass or so, and then Wynne will be back."

"What would you do?" Anders asked. "If she came in here, if she told you to go. To leave me." He twisted his fingers in the blanket.

"I wouldn't go." Theckla tucked a lock of hair behind Anders' ear.

"What if - what if the Knight Commander told you?" Anders' eyelids drooped. He struggled to keep them open, to watch Theckla's face.

"I still wouldn't go."

"They'd make you," said Anders, distantly aware that he sounded about five years old. "They'd make you, you'd have to."

"I won't leave you." His hand was heavy and warm on Anders' brow. "Go to sleep."

Anders let himself believe. He slept.


	14. Chapter 14

Mutter of raised voices, coming closer. _The edge of a shield, blocking his path._ The ring of plate and chain, heavy boots hitting the floor. _Anise. Brown eyes._ The infirmary door flung open with a crash, and Anders jolted off the cot onto the flagstones, cracking a knee against the hearth and biting his tongue.

"What on earth -" Wynne, rising from the table where she'd been reading, one hand flung out in a gesture to Anders, _stay!_ Between the legs of the table, beyond the sweep of her robe's hem, he saw five, no, six pairs of boots as Templars came flooding into the infirmary. He shrank under the cot, wrapped a hand around his throbbing knee, and swallowed the blood in his mouth.

"Healer, quickly!" Prentiss' voice, harsh with urgency.

Wynne left the table, guided them to the right, beyond Anders' view. "Here, on this bed - spirits above, what happened to him?"

"Fire," said someone else.

"Clearly," said Wynne, acerbic. "But this is - "

"We don't know," said Prentiss. 

Someone moaned, soft and hopeless, and Anders stuffed a fist into his mouth. They sounded - wrong. Muffled. Wet.

"I - I'll need. Lyrium," said Wynne, unsteadily, before her voice firmed. "Lyrium. Three vials, at least. And wake Enchanter Thekla, I will need his help. Has the First Enchanter been informed?"

"The Knight Commander is handling the situation," said Prentiss. "Sanago, get Thekla." Boots left, at a run.

"Look at me," said Wynne, calm and controlled, "look at me, you are going to be alright. What's his name?"

"Lyonne," said Prentiss, and all the breath left Anders' lungs.

"Lyonne, look at me," said Wynne. "Can you hear me?" She turned to Prentiss. "Get me that lyrium, now!"

"Boggs," said Prentiss. More running boots.

Anders edged out from his hiding spot. There were boxes and bags of potion ingredients piled between him and the main infirmary floor, an irregular wall with just enough gaps to let him see flashes of armour and Wynne's red robe. Four templars around the bed, and Wynne at the head of it, obscuring his view of Lyonne. 

"Get his armour off," said Wynne. "There's clean cloths on the shelf, there. Ser Prentiss, help me with his helm." She and Prentiss bent over the bed, there was a series of clinks as they unbuckled. "One smooth movement," said Wynne.

They pulled.

Lyonne screamed and reared up and Anders saw a glimpse of his face. It was a red ruin, one eye gone entirely, bone showing at his jaw. The helm, perfectly intact, hit the floor and rolled toward Anders. 

"Lay down!" Wynne, her voice raised with calm authority. "Ser, lay down!" She and Prentiss forced Lyonne back to the pillow. His legs juddered and danced, and the other templars clamped their mailed hands to his limbs. He wailed like a demon. Prentiss was cursing, low and vicious. A blue light sprang up around Wynne, and Lyonne subsided, moaning.

"Entropic energy," said Wynne. "He's been Feared. I'm going to need Enchanter Uldred."

"Uldred is," Prentiss paused, hissed breath through her teeth. "Unavailable."

"What? What in the Maker's name does that mean?" Wynne snapped. The wavering watery glow of her magic intensified. "This man is going to go mad if we don't halt this curse and I don't have the skill. I need Ulrich."

"I can Cleanse," Prentiss offered. 

"I'm just barely holding him together as it is, if you interrupt me now he's going to die." Wynne's voice was clipped. "If you cannot get me Uldred then I want the First Enchanter."

"The First Enchanter is with the Knight Commander," said Prentiss.

"Yes, yes, handling the situation, very good. But I need him to handle _this_ situation, Ser Prentiss. Or this man is going to die."

Anders could see Prentiss' face, the way her brow creased.

"Lyonne is the only one who saw -" said another of the templars.

"Yes, alright," she cut him off. "I'll go. Keep him alive, Enchanter," she said to Wynne. "He's a witness."

"Witness to what?" 

"Blood magic," said Prentiss and then she was out the door, not quite running.

Anders shrank back again, wrapped his arms around himself.

Lyonne thrashed again, screaming. There were no words, only horrible, mindless noise. 

"Hold him down, for the Maker's sake!" Wynne was drawing power like a geyser from the Fade now; Anders could practically hear the voices of the spirits on the other side, could feel their presence like pressure against his skin. "I can't save the eye," she said, tight. "There's something about these wounds that's resisting me."

"Blood magic," said one of the templars. "Andraste defend us."

There was a scuff of slippered feet.

"Karl," said Wynne, "thank the Maker. I need you to hold him."

"Dear Maker," said Thekla. Anders nearly wept to hear his voice. "Wynne, what -?"

"No time for that, if we can't get him out of his armour he's going to bleed out."

"What do you want me -"

"Hold him and lift him, he keeps -"

On cue, Lyonne howled and one of the templars grunted sharply. 

Cold white light sprang up to combine with Wynne's Spirit energy, and Anders summoned the courage to put his eye back to the gap between two bags of dried embrium.

Thekla was standing on the far side of the bed. Lyonne was suspended in the air, his limbs spread, his thrashing reduced to twitches and shudders. Force energy rippled back and forth along his body, making the various part of his battered, bloody armour chime and scrape. 

Anders huffed a shocked breath, nearly forgetting his fear. It was an astonishing display of power and control, especially in Force, where any level of precision was hair-rippingly difficult.

"Get his armour off," said Wynne. "Quickly."

The templars stripped Lyonne efficiently, cutting the straps that held the metal plates together, maneuvering the chain shirt over his head as Thekla carefully moved Lyonne's arms, ripping the seams out of his arming jacket and padded leggings. The extent of his injuries became apparent as his flesh was slowly exposed, and the reason why Wynne was exerting herself as Anders had never seen her do before. The man had been torn up like cleaning rags. His blood stained every part of his clothing. Clawmarks crisscrossed his torso, his arms, his legs, each slash edged with burnt and blackened flesh.

"I've seen this," said one of the templars.

"Yes," said Wynne. "So have I."

"Demons," said the templar, horrified.

"Please remain calm, ser," said Wynne. "We may need your assistance."

The templar Prentiss sent after the lyrium panted in the door. "I have the - Maker's balls!" A sudden tinkle of broken glass and the air filled with the sharp, metallic stench of refined lyrium. 

"Andraste's flaming tits, man!" Karl snapped. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, there's still two left," the templar faltered. 

"Give them here. Where is the First Enchanter?"

"I don't know, I -"

"I'm here." Irving's deep voice was calm, measured. "I'll take those, Ser Sanago. Wynne."

Anders saw Irving step to Wynne's side and tip the vial to her mouth. She swallowed, grimaced. "Can you lift the Fear? I can't - his body is flooded with it, I can't get his heart to slow, and if I release my hold on -"

"Yes, I see. One moment." Irving lowered his head and stretched out a hand. Sick green light sprang up between his fingers. 

"Good, yes." Wynne did something. "I think I can -"

Lyonne convulsed, his body bucking against the hold of Karl's magic. Something popped with a gristly, meaty sound. Blood sprayed in all directions.

Wynne cried out in shock, Karl shouted a curse so foul Anders couldn't even understand it, and mages and templars both stumbled backward, shielding their faces. Something damp hit Anders across his right cheekbone and eye where he had them pressed to the gap. The magic all died at once.

Lyonne's body hit the bed with a wet thump. 

There was a ringing silence and then one of the templars bent at the waist and vomited on the floor.

Anders raised a shaking hand to his cheek and pulled away fingertips dotted with little red smears. On the other side of the embrium, Irving was giving orders, templars were stomping back and forth. Wynne said something lowly, close by. It was dark back here, by the banked fire, and the blood on his fingers looked nearly black. 

He blinked and Karl was there, kneeling in front of him, touching his shoulder. He had a cloth in one hand, he was using it to wipe Ander's face. "Anders," he said. He'd been saying it for a while, Anders realized.

"Yes," he said.

"Anders, were you watching?" There was blood on Karl, as well, Anders saw, a wide spray of it across the front of his robes.

"Yes," he said.

Karl closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and wiped more determinedly at Ander's face. "No, you didn't. Alright? You were asleep the whole time. I gave you that potion, and you slept through everything. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said. 

Karl shook him once, sharply. "Do you understand?"

Anders flinched. "Yes," he said. "A demon killed Ser Lyonne."

"You can't let anyone know that," said Karl. "You can't breathe a word, Anders, do you understand me? This is - there could be a purge, because of this, and they can't know - it's bad enough that you were here. Please, Anders."

Wynne appeared, her face a nightmare mask of smeared blood. "Get him back in the cot, they're coming."

Karl pressed a cup to Anders' lips. "Drink." 

Anders drank. It was chalky and horrible, and the minute it hit his stomach his eyes began to droop. Karl urged him backward, into the blankets on the watch cot. Wynne had already left. Karl was turning away but Anders snagged a hand into his robe, tugged.

"What is it?" Karl turned back.

"Morri," Anders managed. "Morrigan."

"What about her?"

"'s she safe?"

"Why wouldn't she be safe?" Karl bent over, eyes intent, but Anders was drifting, falling into a grey, soft haze. "Anders, what about Morrigan?"

 _A fool's path,_ she'd said, but that had been before, before...

"Anders ..."

He slept.


	15. Chapter 15

Someone was jostling him, trying to wake him. Anders mashed his face more firmly into his pillow.

"Get up! Anders, wake up, seriously."

Daylen, all worked up about something.

"Go 'way," Anders said into the pillow.

"Anders, _wake up_." Day sounded near tears.

Anders opened his eyes and remembered everything.

He sat up so fast he nearly clocked Day on the chin. He was in the dorms, where every male apprentice was awake and milling around. Low, worried conversation bounced back and forth in the dim room. "What," he said cogently.

"We're confined," said Day. "No one is being let out to go to class, or eat, or anything." Anders lifted a hand to summon a wisp, and Day grabbed his wrist. "No magic," he said and nodded to the door. Two Templars stood there, visors down, naked swords held in guard pose. "No one's told us anything. Erlin said, he said, this is what they do when, he said this is what they did when that mage five years ago came out of Harrowing possessed and killed three Templars, he said -"

Anders grabbed Day's hands and squeezed them to get his attention. "Did you see Morri today?"

"No!" Day wrenched his hands free. "Didn't you hear me? We're _confined._ "

"Yesterday, then. Did you see her at all?"

"She was - she had extra Entropy, I saw her with Uldred in the hall afterward, she was fine. She was," Day faltered a bit. "She looked excited, actually. Anders, did ..."

The dormitory doors boomed open and Prentiss strode in, helm under one arm. Whispers died as her gaze swept the room.

Anders shrank back, half hidden behind Day but it was no use. She’d already seen him.

“Apprentice Anders,” she said. “Come with me.”

Everyone turned to look at him. Day’s hand landed on Anders’ arm and gripped convulsively.

“Ser?” Anders croaked.

“Now, apprentice,” she said.

He pulled away from Day and fumbled his way out of his sheets. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothing.

“Is he in trouble, Ser?” Day asked, his voice thin and high.

Prentiss ignored him. The cold hollow in Anders’ stomach grew larger. He shuffled into his shoes and, trembling, crossed the floor to where the Templar waited. Her hand descended on his shoulder and she steered him out the door.

He looked back long enough to catch Day’s helpless, terrified gaze, and then the door shut between them.

Anders knew that he should be smart mouthing right about now, or at least twisting in her steel-clad grip. Cocky, troublesome Anders, same as always, ignorant and innocent. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even control the shaking and, though he stuffed his hands into his pockets, he knew that Prentiss had to feel it vibrating every bone in his body.

She took him to the stairs, and up. And up. He tripped on a stair and she, not unkindly, hauled him back to his feet. _They know about the shapeshifting,_ he screamed inside his head. He remembered the scorn on her face, that first day down in the dungeon. _I would never,_ she’d said. But after all this, after …

He stumbled again and Prentiss made an exasperated noise. “Keep on your feet, apprentice,” she said. They were halfway up a winding staircase. At the top, natural light spilled down the steps.

“Am I being Harrowed?” burst out of him.

Prentiss looked down at him. “You are to answer questions, not ask them,” said Prentiss and then they were at the top, and the doors to the Harrowing Chamber opened in front of them, and she took him through.

Irving and Gregoire stood together by the lyrium font in grim conversation with Wynne, three other Templars, and Enchanter Uldred, his robes torn and soot-stained all down his left side. There was soot across the floor, as well, scorch marks that stretched some twenty feet or more to the wall, and terminated in criss-crossing sprays of blood across the stained glass of one window. Anders remembered the cross hatch of wounds on Lynne’s flesh and swallowed.

“The apprentice Anders,” Prentiss announced and extended her arm to propel Anders forward.

“First Enchanter, I must again, formally –“ said Wynne.

“Protest this, yes, thank you Senior Enchanter,” said Irving wearily.

“These children have done nothing –“ Wynne went on.

“Proceed,” said Gregoire.

Uldred glanced to Irving, who nodded. “Apprentice,” he said. His eyes fixed on Anders’, uncomfortably sharp. “Give me your arms, please.”

Things became suddenly clear. Uldred was a master of Entropy, he was a powerful Force user, but his main use to the Tower and to the Chantry, as everyone knew, was as a hunter of blood mages. He traveled to other Circles, he even went out with Templars on occasion. And now he wanted to see Anders’ arms.

“Apprentice,” said Uldred again. One of the Templars shifted, his mail scraping metallically together.

Anders suppressed a hysterical laugh. At least it was something he was innocent of. He stuck out his arms.

Uldred stepped forward and took him by the left wrist. He pushed Anders’ sleeves up, exposing one forearm and then the other.

"Hmm.” He ran cold, impersonal fingers across Anders’ smooth, goosepimpled skin.

“It proves nothing,” said one of the Templars. It was Ser Giles, his helm under his arm, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “The boy could have healed himself.”

“Blood magic wounds leave scars,” said Wynne.

“Open yourself to the Fade but do not draw power through,” Uldred instructed Anders.

Anders glanced to Wynne, who nodded. He reached out with that part of him that was both his greatest joy and the shackle around his neck and brushed against the Veil. It seemed oddly fragile and he had to pull back, restrain himself to the barest of touches to avoid breaching it.

“Hmm,” said Uldred again.

“This is ridiculous,” said Wynne. “Anders was unconscious when all of this happened.” She gestured at the floor, the window. “There is no conspiracy here, no web of malificars to root out, only the actions of one foolish young man.”

“Who?” Anders blanched as every one of them turned and looked at him, varying degrees of displeasure on their faces.

“Jowan,” said Uldred, just as Wynne said, “You don’t need to know, Anders,” and Irving said, “Let’s just get on with this, shall we?”

“Jowan?” Anders said, too shocked to be properly cowed. Jowan was a gangly, sad apprentice some three years older than Anders, eager to please and slow to learn. He looked at the soot, the dried blood. “He … did…?”

“He is missing,” said Irving. “Beyond that, we don’t have any facts.”

Gregoire turned an impatient look on Irving. “His phylactery had him three miles from here and still running.”

“We don’t know why he fled.”

“We know enough.” A muscle in Gregoire’s jaw flexed. “I’ll be just as pleased if they bring back his corpse.”

“Enough,” said Wynne sharply. “Your pardon, Knight Commander,” she added as Gregoire lifted an eyebrow at her, “but we surely don’t need to discuss this in front of impressionable ears?”

Gregoire looked at Anders and grunted. “Your opinion, Senior Enchanter?” he asked Uldred.

Uldred stepped away from Anders. “I sense no taint of blood magic in him,” he said.

“Did you know Jowan well?” Gregoire asked Anders.

“No,” said Anders, his throat tight.

“Your friend, Daylen, often speaks with him.”

“Day talks to everyone,” said Anders. “He’s friendly. I mean, they weren’t friends, Day’s just … nice. He’s not a blood mage!” Oh Maker, stop talking.

“I think we understand,” said Irving, kindly. “Ser Prentiss, please take Anders to the dining hall and then bring Apprentice Daylen.”

“This is inefficient,” said Uldred as Prentiss laid her mailed hand on Anders’ shoulder again. “And based on speculation.”

“Are you suggesting I utilize one of the other investigative methods available to me?” asked Gregoire.

“No,” said Wynne swiftly. “No. This is slow, but sure, yes?” She glanced at Irving, who nodded.

“Your research can wait, Uldred,” said Irving.

Prentiss applied pressure and Anders went with her, reluctantly.

She took him to the dining hall, pushed him in past the two Templars on the door and sent him stumbling forward. The door closed with a hollow boom behind him and he stood, blinking in the low light of the sconces. There was a small figure at a far table, where they usually sat for meals, he and Day and … He was moving before he fully recognized her, before she lifted her head from her crossed arms and scrambled up to meet him. He and Morrigan flung their arms around one another and for a moment, he felt like he could breathe again.

“Morri,” he said. “Maker’s cock, Morri.”

She was smiling fiercely when she pulled back. “I told you,” she said, though there was a waver in her voice. “I told you I was going to get rid of them.”

Dread, cold and heavy, congealed in his stomach. “You – Morri, I saw, I was there when,” Anders looked behind him, to the closed door, and leaned in, “I saw. Blood magic, Wynne said.”

She shook her head, scornfully, and he saw the dark bruise on her cheekbone. “I would never,” she said. “And if I had, would I be here now? This is the holding pen for those of us they’ve deemed safe.”

“Tell me,” Anders said. “Please, I’m about to go crazy, what happened?” He lifted fingers to the bruise and she shied away.

“Don’t heal me,” she said. “I’m the poor beaten child, don’t take away the evidence.”

“Who beat you?”

Her lip curled a little but her eyes were wide and her hands, in Ander’s, shook. “The dead one,” she said. “Lyonne.”

“Was that part of the plan?” Anders reached out with spirit energy again.

“Stop that,” Morri said sharply. “I’m fine.” She pulled her hands away, sat on the bench. “It –“ she touched the bruise and winced, a little. “It wasn’t in the plan, no. Jowan wasn’t in the plan.” She shivered a little.

Anders crouched in front of her, taking in the torn shoulder of her robe, the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet his. “Please tell me,” he said.

Morrigan sucked in a huge breath and then let it out again. “It was supposed to be Uldred,” she whispered. “I let Lyonne take me up to the Harrowing Chamber, I asked him to let me see the moon. Uldred was supposed to follow but he didn’t come, and then Lyonne – and he hit me when I bit him, and then Jowan ran in. He had a knife. There was blood and then …” her voice stuttered and hiccupped and Anders took her hands in his again, “then f-fire and Lyonne let go. He Silenced, I felt it, but Jowan never stopped shouting and Lyonne started screaming and I.” She shut her eyes. “I stopped looking,” she faltered.

“Then what?”

“I – don’t know,” she said. “When I could see again, Uldred was there. He picked me up, told me the Templars were coming, told me that Jowan had run away. Told me to tell the story we’d decided on, but with Jowan instead of him. Told me to tell them about the blood magic.” Morrigan pulled one hand back, rubbing at her eyes. “He was very calm,” she said, with a tinge of admiration.

“I’ll bet,” said Anders, feeling rage like a firestorm building inside him. “That was your plan? Let Lyonne attack you and then Uldred comes to the rescue?”

“He’s a Senior Enchanter,” she said. “They’d have to believe him.”

Anders shook his head. “No,” he said. “They wouldn’t have. Lyonne would have had to done much more than _hit_ you, they can hit us all they want, that’s not against the rules, he just would have said he found you up there and no one would have done _anything_ , that’s how it _works_. If Jowan hadn’t have come, if he, don’t you know…”

“Let go.” Morri yanked at her hand and he held on tighter, as though he could squeeze understanding into her.

“They _never_ believe us,” he said. “Not even Irving himself can make them. Your plan wouldn’t have worked. It was stupid.”

“No, it wasn’t,” said Morrigan, her face red.

“It was,” Anders felt sick, “and Uldred had to know that.”

“He didn’t,” said Morrigan, but it was feeble.

“Uldred had to know,” Anders said again. “And he still let you … so the only question is.” He stopped. He couldn’t, physically couldn’t say the words. Silence hung horribly between them.

Morrigan slowly, deliberately straightened her spine. “Was he going to let Lyonne force me,” she said starkly, “or did he send Jowan up there to succumb to a demon?”

“You could have died,” Anders whispered.

“My mother,” Morrigan stopped and closed her eyes. “My mother,” she tried again,” always told me –“ but she couldn’t finish, and Anders pulled her against him again so she could cry without him seeing.


	16. Chapter 16

“Seriously, I can’t even visit the privy without a Tinhead watching,” Day said resentfully. “All the garden passes revoked, no special lessons, no …”

“Shhh,” said the Templar by the door.

Anders and Day and Morrigan were seated around a table in the library, a careful armslength apart, struggling through yet another sheaf of Elvhen translations. A week had gone by since Jowan had fled the Tower, and the Templars sent after him had not yet returned. The whole Tower was on lockdown, Apprentices escorted to and from class under the eye of edgy, mistrusting Templars, Enchanters forbidden to speak to one another privately. This was the closest the three of them had gotten to an actual conversation since the morning of the interrogations. There had been passed notes in the halls, of necessity brief and vague, and Day and he had managed a few words before lights out as they prepared for bed, but the Templars were everywhere. Double duty rosters, even the marginally pleasant among them turned grim and uncompromising.

“They pulled a girl out of dorm last night for pleasuring herself,” Morrigan said in a nearly-inaudible whisper. “Keran was shouting at her about ‘weakness’ and ‘sin’. Not even our bodies belong to us, it would seem.”

Anders bent his head over Nahael’s scribblings beginning with ‘D’ and tried, without success, to relax the muscles between his shoulderblades. Ser Agnes was up on the mezzanine, watching them. Watching him.

“No one talks to me anymore,” Morrigan went on. “They all know I was there when, when … Uldred released me from Entropy, told me to apply again in a year or two.” Her quill scratched too harshly across her paper, spattering ink. “No more use for me, clearly.”

Anders willed her, silently, to stop talking.

“I made things worse,” Morrigan said. She was staring down at her papers, pale and hollow-eyed. He’d seen her enraged, afraid, sorrowful, but he’d never seen her despairing before.

“Shhh.” It was Daylen, this time, darting his eyes to the Tinhat by the door.

Morrigan looked up, her eyes red. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The Templar was looking their way again.

“I saw a mouse in the hall, yesterday between afternoon classes,” said Anders, desperately. “I guess the wards on the storerooms are getting worn down again.”

Day looked at him as though he had lost his mind. “So?”

“Mice are living creatures,” said Anders, meaningfully.

Day gave him an uncomprehending look.

Anders gave his papers a little shake.

“I don’t,” said Day, and then the Templar shoved away from the wall with a rattle and clang. Everyone along the tables froze, shoulders hunched.

“Apprentices,” she said. “No talking. Don’t make me tell you again.”

They lowered their heads. There was silence, other than the scritch of pen against paper, and then Morrigan tapped her finger gently against the table and Anders snuck a quick look.

A little scribbled drawing of a mouse, and the words, _show me?_ decorated the edge of her notes.

***

“It was here,” Anders said, as they walked as slowly as they dared between Elemental and Force. Ahead of them the Templar escorting their class bent his head toward Day, who chattered on about Maker knew what. “I swear, it was right – there!” he pointed. 

Morrigan flicked her fingers and the mouse froze mid-scuttle, trapped in Force.  It squeaked miserably.

“Don’t hurt it!”

“I’m not!” Morrigan bent, caught it up in one hand, and stowed it in a pocket. The pocket glowed green for half a second. “It’s asleep, shush.”

The Templar was looking back at them, despite Day’s efforts. “No casting in the halls,” she said.

“Apologies,” said Morrigan. “We have a test today, I was practicing.”

“You know better,” said the Templar. She held out a hand. “Walk up here with me, please.”

Morrigan went, casting a quick glance behind at Anders. He hoped the sleep spell worked longer on mice than on people, or she was going to have to keep casting it all day.

***

“Is it ever going to wake up?” Day craned his neck to look.

Morrigan kicked him under the dinner table. “Stop drawing attention,” she whispered. “It’s awake. I fed it some bread.”

Day subsided into his seat. “Please tell me you aren’t going to – do things to it.”

Morrigan looked uneasy. She stuck her hand into her pocket again, laden with a fragment of green bean this time. “I’ll do what I must,” she said, without conviction.

“Just because your mother, um,” Anders said, “doesn’t mean we have to. There’s other ways of really getting to know someone. Something. Better ways, I would say.”

“Should I start kissing it?” Morrigan said, with a sideways glance.

“Only if you want to,” said Anders, loftily.

“Shut up about the mouse,” said Rochelle. “Or I won’t even have to tell on you.”

“What – mouse? What do you mean?” asked Day.

Rochelle gave him a look. “Better be careful with it,” she said. “Irving found one of his scrolls all chewed up and pooped on. And since they won’t trust even the enchanters casting anything in groups, they’re getting a cat in.”

Anders sat up straight. “What, really?” There had been cats on the farm, they’d always come clamouring round the back when he’d milked the goats. He’d sent them a squirt or two, every time, even though his mother … “A cat?”

Rochelle shrugged. “I heard Prentiss telling one of the recruits to get a kitten next time they crossed the lake.”

“When’s that?” Anders leaned toward her.

“How would I know?” She stuck a forkful of beans into her mouth.

“A cat,” said Day doubtfully.

“A kitten,” said Anders, gazing into the distance.

“Best not come near Dashiel,” Morrigan muttered.

“Dashiel?” asked Day.

Morrigan hunched over her pocket a little and glared at him.

“That’s an Elvhen name,” said Anders. “Little, little … walker?”

Morrigan shifted her shoulders. “Wanderer.”

Anders, displaying an impressive amount of forbearance, said nothing.

“You named it?” Day was grinning. “Was that part of your mum’s process?”

Morrigan stabbed her fork into her roast chicken. “I am not my mother,” she said. “Maybe I will have my own process.”

The bell rang and they all hastily shoved as much of their remaining dinners in as they could as the Templars advanced to herd them away to dorm.


End file.
